


Harry Potter and the Polymagus

by jlluh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-06 07:10:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 90,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11595510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jlluh/pseuds/jlluh
Summary: Harry Potter survived Voldemort's curse because his parents were badass magic researchers.Harry is more impressive than in canon, but isn't "super." This time, for whatever reason, he thinks it matters that Hermione is better at almost everything. Ron, the chess master, is annoying in more useful ways.A lot happens in a single year. Starts out very canonically, but diverges.





	1. Unusual Gifts

Chapter 1: Unusual Gifts

Having stepped outside to pick up the mail, Harry's eyes caught on a letter that didn't fit. Smallish. Thick, yellowing paper and wax seal, utterly out of place amid the mess of bills and ads the postman had brought.

It was addressed to him.

Mr. Harry Potter, Number 4 Privet Drive, the Cupboard Under the Stairs.

Harry put it in the back of his shorts, held tight by his belt, covered by his too-baggy shirt.

When he set the rest of the mail on the kitchen table, his Aunt and Uncle hardly looked at him. He escaped to his cupboard, and pulled the door to it tight in the special way that made it stick against the frame when anyone else tried to open it.

The only light in the cupboard was a single bare bulb lit by pulling on a chain, but it was a high wattage bulb, and he'd fit a few small mirrors into the cupboard so he wouldn't have so much trouble with his head shading the paper when he read.

The letter told him that he was to be a wizard, and go to wizarding school, and he should respond by owl. He read that line several times, swallowing and wondering where he was supposed to respond to. Hogwarts, but where was that?

His Aunt and Uncle were calling for him, so he put the letter in the space beneath the loose floorboard, and went out to do the dishes. The letter was probably a joke cooked up by his cousin, or some neighbor's idea of a prank, telling kids they were wizards, like Santa Claus, but slightly cruel.

Some egg had been burned so tightly to the smaller pan that it would take serious elbow grease to get off even with the scrub brush so he rubbed a finger over the burned bit, and it came right off. There was a knack to it.

He went back to his cupboard, and copied the letter three times. One copy went into a book-he always kept several stacked in the corner of his cupboard-one under his small mattress (which had no frame, but, though it was very old, was just the right firmness and had never gotten at all lumpy) and one into the small nook under the loose floorboard-cold had used to speak up in the night from the cement beneath, so he had lined it with styrofoam pieces.

"Phil," he said. "What do you think? Am I a wizard?" It sounded silly to say, but Phil susurrused in his right ear in a way that to Harry seemed to say, "Yes, you are a wizard, or what are you doing with me?"

He waited for Phil to hide back in his hair before leaving his cupboard to show the original letter to his Aunt and Uncle.

He had thought his Aunt and Uncle wouldn't like it. They disliked anything at all unusual or interesting. He'd wondered if they would yell at him, but he hadn't expected them to yell so loudly. They'd seemed scared, and Uncle Vernon had yelled at Aunt Petunia about her side of the family, and she had said it was hardly her fault, and it was just her sister that was the freak, and it had gone on and on until eventually Uncle Vernon had remembered that he was there and told him it was nothing, only a practical joke.

"Yes," Harry had said. "That's what I thought it was. But do you mean to tell me that some other relatives of my parents are still alive, and one of them sent me this?"

His Aunt and Uncle had responded by taking the letter from him, bundled him back into his cupboard, locked it, and not let him back out till dinner. After he'd showered they'd put him back in.

He tried to read a book, but couldn't concentrate.

He didn't think it was a practical joke. There was the stuff with the door, the dishes, the garden and his hair, his having Phil, the time he'd talked to a snake, and quite a bit else aside from the main and undeniable proof.

Harry guessed Uncle Vernon was nervous as well, because it wasn't till nearly three in the morning that the house creaked and the air changed in that way which meant that Uncle Vernon was asleep.

He ran his magnet against the inside of the door, and heard the throw latch screwed to the outside open.

It shouldn't have been possible to do that so easily just with a magnet, but there was a knack to it.

He stepped into the hall wearing a wool cap, long pants, and his best jacket. He carried his shoes, walking quietly in padded feet. The kitchen door, never creaky, was extra quiet for him.

He locked the door behind himself. The magnet, again. Then sat on the welcome mat and put on his shoes. Then peed on a shrubbery.

It was dark on Privet Drive at three in the morning, but not very. Fingering the letter in his jacket pocket, he looked for an owl, but there weren't any.

He thought about putting the letter in with their normal outbound mail, relying on Wizards and Witches to use Witchcraft and Wizardry to intercept any mail addressed to them.

"Owl." He whispered. "Owl for Hogwarts." But there weren't any owls.

Till there was one. A juvenile great horned owl, brown, with streaks of red and gray, standing right where Harry had been.

Harry beat his wings, and rose into the night.

Harry soared through the sky over Number 4 Privet Drive and waited. He could see a whole lot more and hear a whole lot more in this form, and now there were owls to choose from. He ignored the ones that hooted in trees and the ones that seemed to be hunting and kept looking for any that were acting unusually.

He was wondering about the time, starting to think about going back inside, when he noticed the one carrying mail.

At first he thought the cylinder was a wildlife tracking device, like he'd seen on TV, but those weren't so large. He flew closer, saw a bit of paper peeking out of the cylinder, and hooted.

The owl ignored him, and he followed it, slightly apprehensive. He'd never followed an owl before while in owl form, reasoning that they might be territorial.

This one flapped into the nearest park and circled the play set three times, Harry imitating its every move. They dove into the thicket of trees at the park's western edge, passing through the deepest shadows of the park, between the bulks of two old oaks, and when they passed out of the deep shadows between two old oaks, a lake unfolded in front of them.

There wasn't a lake in the neighborhood park. There was a pond in the larger park two miles over, but this wasn't that.

He beat his wings, half-hovering, trying to get his bearings in a confusion that was hastily tossed aside by the thought that he didn't know where he was or how to get back to where he'd been, but if he didn't keep following the owl, he wouldn't having any way of getting to where he was going.

He renewed his chase, not getting closer to the owl, but not letting it get farther either, being careful to fly exactly where it flew.

It flew into a deep shadow amid the sedge around the lake, and did not come out.

Harry flew through the shadow amid the sedge around the lake, and nearly crashed into the ground before pulling up and rising out of the deep shadow amid the sedge around a creek, not a lake in sight.

On the next hop, he recognized the shadow they'd pass through before the owl through it. There was a shininess to the black, but also a depth, and a glimmer of what lay on the other side.

He thought that they were passing by many such portals, but felt no temptation to experiment. The owl delivering mail occupied his attention.

Four more hops through deep shadows and there was a forest, a lake, and a fairy tale castle rising above, a mess of spires and turrets.

The owl circled twice around the highest tower, then disappeared through a slit.

Harry went through it too, landing on a pier of wood. There were a lot of owls resting on various perches and nests, but no cages. Perhaps they didn't need cages. Two small brownish humanoids with very big noses were among them. One was grooming an owl, which made a contented purring, and the other was taking what was indeed a letter from the cylinder on the leg of the owl he'd been following.

They hardly paid him more than a glance. There were lots of owl to look after, and he didn't have any mail.

He fluttered past them into the hall and down a long spiral staircase of stone that let out into a much wider hall hung with paintings and banners. There were candle posts, but most were unlit, and he flew from candle post to candle post, wondering what the time was. Late enough in the night that most would call it morning, but still hours till light, he thought.

He wondered if the whole castle was full of nothing but owls and the strange goblin-creatures he'd seen the owls. Perhaps the letter was to draw young wizards to them so that they could eat them.

Though if it were a goblin castle it shouldn't be so full of pictures of humans. Though if it were a human castle the pictures shouldn't be of humans sleeping.

"Ahoy up there," said a very human voice. "Shoo, shoo, you'll dirty the hall."  
It was a woman in her 40s, yawning into a handkerchief. The only problem being that she was inside a painting.

"Shoo," said the painting. "Owls don't belong here."

He flew on, around a couple of turns, and took a closer look at the paintings of people sleeping. The people were breathing, some were snoring, and one man rolled over. He went a little further, to a place where there was one painting a bit off by itself, and, taking a deep breath, Harry turned back into a human.

"Hello," he said. "Hello. If you wouldn't mind waking up..." The man in the painting kept sleeping.

Harry sang, noticeably but not horribly off-key.

Awake, arise and sing a new song

of joy and celebration

A new day has come,

sing praise to the sun

in the sky

"Shut that racket," the man in the painting said, blinking his eyes, staring at Harry, then shooting to his feet. "A student. What are you doing here?"

"Looking," said Harry. "Could you tell me whether you're the product of some evil soul imprisoning dark magic?"

The main said, "You shouldn't be here. School doesn't start for weeks. Months."

"Yes, very sorry, so this is a school?"

"Of course it's-" the painting stopped. "Are you muggle-born?"

"What?" said Harry.

"If you don't know, you are one."

Harry said, "If you could answer my first question, are you human?"

The man in the painting drew himself up. "I'm Janeth Crocker of House Hufflepuff."

"And you're really human? Are you trapped in this painting?"

"That's a very rude question."

"The second one?"

"The first. The second is easy; I can go to any painting in Hogwarts I like except for the paintings in the Professors' studies and the House rooms, so no I'm not trapped."

"And you're human?"

The painting sighed. "I suppose fresh muggle-borns being intolerably rude must be tolerated. I am merely a painting of Janeth Crocker."

"But you can talk."

"I'd be a very poor painting if I couldn't do at least that much."

Harry said, "Is there-"

The painting said, "You should talk to a teacher. There's at least one here. Look for Dumbledore or whoever. Go that way." It pointed, and Harry set off in that direction.

He woke up more paintings as he went, getting vague and often conflicting directions from the drowsy and the startled, but guessed that, whether he was going in the right direction or not, he was bound to run into someone sooner or later.

"What are you doing here?" said a woman's voice.

Turning toward the painting, he said, "Could you tell me where I might fi-" He stopped. Not a painting. An elderly, straight-backed woman in red robes in a high pointed hat like witches wore in old stories. "I've been looking for you," he finished.

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you Harry Potter?" she said.

"Did you read my mind?"

"I knew your parents. You look just like your father."

That was a warm feeling. His parents had been magical. He'd already guessed that, based on his Aunt and Uncle calling them freaks.

"Potter, how are you here?"

He said, "I got a letter this morning, or I guess yesterday morning now, telling me I was a wizard and I should reply by owl, but I wasn't sure how to do that, so I found an owl carrying mail, turned into an owl too, and I followed it."

Her eyebrows rose into her short bangs. "Turned into an owl. Show me."

He turned into an owl, seeing her with the sharp eyes and low vantage of the species, and nearly fell over when she turned into a cat. Then back into a witch, so he played along and turned back into a student.

"I'm Professor McGonagall," she said, extending a hand. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Harry Potter. I'll take you to Dumbledore."

He learned that the goblin-like things were House Elves, that an owl would've appeared if he'd gone to the mailbox, and that Dumbledore was an old man with a long white beard and lots of socks. Layers of them, like bundles on his feet.

Dumbledore said, "So aside from turning into an owl..."

"I have a few knacks. I can clean things easily, unlock locks more easily than I should. My hair does whatever I want without any gel. I can communicate with animals a bit."

"Tell me about that." said Dumbledore.

"Just a few. All the neighborhood cats. Various birds a little. Ravens. Owls. Spiders, though there are loads of species and they're all different. It's not talking. I look into their eyes, and after awhile we understand each other. Except with snakes. I've only met two, but both times I could just talk to the snake."

Their expressions became strained.

"What?" said Harry.

Dumbledore said, "Keep that last part secret. It's not bad, but it's the sort of thing you might want to be a surprise one day. Same for turning into an owl. All wizards can transform, but it usually takes special spells. It's not especially rare to be an animagus but it's not common either. Like having good pitch."

"If I practice, can I learn to become more animals?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Just the one, as a general rule."

It occurred to Harry that he might be talented, and he decided to follow Dumbledore's advice about saving things to use as surprises later on. Surprises were treasures, and Harry was used to hiding his treasures.

Dumbledore said, "Minerva, could you take young Potter to get his school supplies?"

"Of course."

"But wait a while. Potter looks ready to fall asleep right here." He pointed to a cot in the corner, and suddenly the rumpled bed sheets were replaced with fresh ones, and Harry needed no encouragement.

#

#

McGonagall had led Harry out onto the castle grounds, Harry trying to drink everything in as McGonagall forced him to hurry. There were a lot of buildings, some very old trees, and the forest looked good for walking in.

They had been walking for about 10 minutes, and Harry had been starting to wonder whether they were going to walk all the way to the market, and whether wizards had more effective methods, when McGonagall took his arm. "Hold on."

There'd been a flash of light, then a flash of dark that had cleared away to reveal cobblestone streets, shops with high-pitched roofs, and one very impressive edifice called Gringotts. Now he was being faced with a very large pile of gold, big enough to roll around in like Scrooge McDuck, and being told it was his.

"This belonged to my parents? Is it a lot?"

"It's a good amount."

"Could I buy a house with it?"

"Why would you buy a house?" McGonagall filled a small bag with coins, then handed it to him. It was heavy. "This should do."

On the one hand, it was a very, very small fraction of the coins in the room. On the other hand, if he was remembering how much gold was worth in the muggle world, it was worth a very, very nice car. Or maybe a small house.

Probably, gold was less valuable in the wizarding world than the muggle world.

"Can we take some more," said Harry. "Just in case."

"It's already enough to buy all your school supplies and have a good amount left over."

"Just in case we see something. I won't buy anything without your permission. If we haven't spent it at the end of the day, we'll put it back."

McGonagall frowned, and filled another little bag.

"Now we go shopping?"

"I've had a busy morning, Potter. A muggle-born's reply arrived about the same time you did, and as you slept, I picked her up. I left her here to fill out forms for the muggle-born's school fund while I got you, and she should be done by now."

"Another student?"

"A first year, like you. Try to be friends."

Harry frowned, wishing this weren't happening. "Yippee," he muttered.

Near the front of the bank, in a set of open air offices, a girl with wavy, dark brown hair, sitting on a stool, reading a book called Hogwarts: A History. "Professor," she said, and tried to hand over the book.

"Keep it. Have you been waiting long?"

"Not long," she said, tucking the book under her arm and flushing with pleasure. "He wants you to sign a couple things," pointing to a goblin behind a desk.

McGonagall went to the goblin, and the girl introduced herself as Hermione Granger.

"Harry Potter," said Harry, shaking her hand, hoping that something had gone wrong with her forms and she'd have to stay at the bank while he and McGonagall went shopping.

"Are you muggle-born too?" she said.

"Sort of. My parents were wizards, but I've been raised by my Aunt and Uncle. I didn't know about wizards."

"It's very remarkable. I didn't believe it till Professor McGonagall levitated my father and turned the sofa into a pig."

"Did she change it back?" said Harry.

"After it had eaten a radish.

"Was there any-"

"There wasn't any radish in the sofa afterward. I checked."

"You didn't believe at first? Had you not noticed anything... odd?"

"The time I fell from a high tree but was unhurt. But I thought that was just luck. The way I could always open a book to exactly the right page. But I thought I just had a knack for it. The way I always knew the time. But that's the same. The time I turned a girl blue. I worried I might be going crazy."

Before Harry could think of how to phrase questions about that last one, she'd said, "How about you?"

"About the same." And it was, except for the transformations. And he hadn't ever done anything like turning someone blue.

By the time McGonagall was done talking to the goblin Harry had forgotten his displeasure at having a second companion.

As they excited Gringotts, McGonagall brushed Harry's bangs down over his hair. "Cover that scar," she said. Then, "I'll explain later."

First they went to get measured for robes at Madam Malkin's, which was empty except for them and Madam Malkin.

Something started to seem odd to Harry.

Hermione said, "I haven't seen any other students."

McGonagall said, "Muggle-borns get their letters early, as they often need time to get matters sorted. But you two responded right away."

Madam Malkin stared at him a little while measuring, but said only, "The uniforms will be ready in an hour or two."

Then on to Flourish and Blotts where they filled their book lists, and got telescopes, scales, and small knives for cutting potions ingredients.

"You should both get this," said McGonagall, pointing at a book which was not on their school list. The Muggle-born's Guide to Understanding the Wizarding World.

"Get the expanded reference book as well. Make sure you've read them before the school year starts."

When Harry went to pay, and the cashier said, "Merlin's beard. Is that Harry Potter?"

"Where?" said Harry, looking behind himself.

"You."

His expression was blank. "I'm David."

"That scar beneath your hair."

"I hit my head on a rock."

Hermione, who was near enough to hear, "David, look at this," so he quickly finished paying, then went to look at it.

Hermione stared at him, so he shrugged.

All the books were put into the trunks, which, at a flick of a McGonagall's wand, rolled behind them. Harry said, "I was recognized. That's twice, counting you." And the goblin at Gringotts had said his name slowly, like he was tasting the syllables.

McGonagall led them to an ice-cream shop, seated them at an outdoor table slightly cut off from view by two potted plants, bought three ice-creams, and told them to get out the The Muggle-born's Guide.

"Look in the table of contents for the section about You-Know-Who, and then the section for the Boy Who Lived.

Harry was not a slow reader, but Hermione had read it all and several parts twice by the time Harry got to the bit about the Dark Lord killing his parents, but somehow, miraculously, had been unable to kill him.

He felt her eyes on him as he found out, and as he read the three paragraphs devoted to shaky hypotheses endeavoring to answer the question of why.

There was picture in the book of Lily and James Potter, taken at their wedding, the first picture of his parents he'd ever seen. He really did have his father's face, his features just a little more pointed. But his green eyes were his mother's. Both were good looking; he wondered if he might grow up to be good looking too.

What made his eyes water a little wasn't the thought of being good looking, but the thought of taking after his parents, who'd been killed.

"So I'm famous," said Harry, when he was done, and pushed his bangs down flat over his scar.

"Their recognizing you is just as much from your looking so like your father. Everyone who bothers to add knows that this is the year Harry Potter starts at Hogwarts. Some shopkeepers might be on the lookout. Shake their hands, ask their names, don't tell them you're named David, and thank them for whatever they say. It shouldn't be bad."

Then there was nothing to do but have a second serving of ice-cream and think about how the world was.

#

#

A sign on a shop they were passing said that the bags could hold 67 times their volume.

"Can I get that," said Harry, pointing.

"An expanded?"

"Do they get heavier when you load them?"

"Not much. Why do you want it?"

"To put things inside."

She arched a brow.

"I'm afraid my Aunt and Uncle will try to lock up my school books, and I won't be able to study."

He wanted it to be unobtrusive, so he looked for a small one, and though he didn't quite understand wizarding money the price of the bag that held 67 times its volume was frightening, so he was about get a 37 times expanded, but McGonagall told him it would be a waste of money since he'd just end up buying a bigger one later, so he got a 59 times, which cost 40% less than the 67 times despite carrying nearly as much. It could hang over your shoulder like a satchel, you could pin it up so it was halved in size, and have it cling secretly to your chest like cops wore guns in movies. Either way, it held all the books; he checked.

The clerk pricked Harry's finger, squeezed the droplet of blood onto the snap, then burned a seal onto the snap. If anyone but Harry opened it, or if Harry opened it in a particular way, all that would be found was a normal sized bag with whatever items he'd chosen to keep "up top." This was called Muggle Mode, but as the clerk explained how hard it was for Wizards to discern that it was an expanded bag, and how hard it was to open it, Harry guessed that was just an excuse.

McGonagall said, "Remember Potter that I know that you have that, and that every Professor of Hogwarts has more than enough ability to discern what it is and open it."

Harry apologized to Hermione for taking her time.

"No bother. But carry something for me when we're at school."

The shop advertised a first aid and camping kit to go with it, so you'd always be prepared, and he bought that too.

At the store where they bought quills, small knives and parchment. Harry also bought a necklace which you could call for help with.

"Pets," said McGonagall.

Hermione said, "I shouldn't get a pet without my parents' permission."

"An owl could carry letters back and forth once you're at school."

"Can't I just rent an owl?"

"Very cheaply," said McGonagall.

Harry said to McGonagall, "I'm not getting one either. There's no way my Aunt and Uncle would allow it."

"You might be surprised."

"You don't know them. Anyway, I don't have any space to keep a pet." Except Phil.

"I spoke to your Aunt and Uncle this morning, while you were sleeping. You're moving out of your current space and into your cousin's playroom."

Harry's mouth dropped. He imagined McGonagall in his Aunt and Uncle's sitting room, tall, imposing and strange, but still couldn't imagine what she could've said to them to get them to agree to that.

Then he remembered Hermione saying that McGonagall had levitated her father and turned the sofa into a pig and thought that it was probably not what she'd said that'd done the trick.

She said, "You can get a pet if you like."

While looked wistfully at the cats, Harry found a brown Great Horned owl with streaks of red and grey.

"That looks familiar," said McGonagall. "This isn't a decision you should be making for those reasons."

"It sounds like the wizarding world is dangerous."

"Eleven years ago was a dangerous time."

"And he had a lot of followers. They'll be angry at me."

"You'll be quite safe at Hogwarts."

"And at my Aunt and Uncle's?"

"There are very strong magics that keep you protected there, based on their being family and your being a child. And the ministry keeps an eye on it."

It was a little scary that they felt they needed to do that, but it did actually make him feel a little better. They were taking precautions.

"Potter, be smart, not prudent. You said you can commune with animals. Show me, and find an animal that will suit you."

He looked into the eyes of the owl in the cage he held. It was thinking that it didn't like to get carried, and about when it might get its next mouse. It paid no attention to him at all.

He sent it an impression of mousiness. It sprung to attention, and looked for the mouse. He sent it an impression of warmth, comfort and affection. It looked for the mouse.

He put the owl back.

Harry looked among the other pets. Cats, toads, rodents, snakes, ravens, though only owls, cats and toads had been on the list of allowable pets. No spiders, though presumably Hogwarts wouldn't care too much if you brought a small one. though they hadn't been on the list of allowable pets.

He looked at the owls. Some beautiful, others cute.

"Are they good pets?"  
"Wizards have bred captive owls for centuries to make better pets, but no, they're still not especially good pets. They are good for carrying letters."

"This one looks too small to carry much."

"It'll grow," said McGonagall, but Harry had stopped listening.

Its eyes were big, black, glancing curiously all around. When they met his gaze, the glancing stopped.

He sent it a feeling of mousiness, and twisted its head, seeming to ask, "Where's the mouse?"

He sent it feelings of warmth and affection, and it stopped thinking of the mouse and basked in that.

It was young. It had only recently left its parents. This was her first day for sale: maybe. She wanted to fly, and she missed her mother. Being in the shop was a little scary. Now she was getting the strange and certain sense that the human in front of her was not scary at all. Was a bit like a mother, and a bit like a nest.

When the human opened the cage, she hopped on its shoulder.

Harry stroked her, and she rubbed her body against his hand.

Hermione came over. "Can I touch it?"

"They're not very friendly with strangers," McGonagall started to say, and stopped when the owl let Hermione pet it, and made a sound that related both to a cat's purr and a Spanish rolled r.

"I'll buy her," said Harry, and named her Hedgwig.

#

#

Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. The shop was crammed floor to ceiling with long thin boxes, and the tall thin man amid the boxes greeted them by saying. "Harry Potter. You have your mother's eyes. And the other?"

Hermione frowned a little at being "the other," but smiled and posed back when Harry posed with the first wand he was handed.

Ollivander snatched both from them, then immediately handed them each another. "Wave them."

Hermione's made a few pale sparks, and Harry's did nothing.

"Next."

On the third pair, Harry's wand made a few sparks, and Hermione's did nothing.

"Next."

On the sixth try, Hermione's wand made a flash of warm yellow light which lit the whole room and took a moment to subside, like a wave passing by. Hermione squealed.

"That's the one," Ollivander said, "10 and three-quarters, vine wood, dragon heartstring, excellent for charms."

Harry tried another, then another, the boxes starting to mount. He tried some that had already been tried by Hermione, making now and then a few sparks, but nothing like that flush of light.

Harry began to worry that his magic was defective, though he told himself that was silly.

"I wonder, why not, try this one."

More sparks, but not the pale scattered ones of before, a thick stream of bright red and gold accompanied by a sound like trumpet and drum.

Ollivander smiled slightly, not giddy, but deeply pleased in some wry manner. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple, with a martial flare. How curious."

McGonagall said, "Mr. Ollivander, if you could put child locks on both wands."

"Of course," said Ollivander, affixing metal covers to the tips and ends, still muttering about how curious it was.

McGonagall said, "Study your books, but you're not to try any magic at all till you're at Hogwarts. The locks remove temptation."

Harry said, "What's so curious?"  
"Perhaps the girl should leave," said Ollivander, nodding to Hermione.

It occurred to Harry that this very fledgling friendship might not survive his keeping a secret from her. "Hermione can hear it."

Ollivander said, "It is curious that the wand destined for you should be brother to the wand that gave you that scar."

#

#

McGonagall said, "Keep that a secret."

"Of course."

"If I'd known what he was going to say, I wouldn't have let you hear it. I'm not sure I'd have even let Harry hear it."

"What?"

"But you heard it. Hopefully that works out."

McGonagall took them to the office of the owl post to arrange newspaper subscriptions.

"I don't usually read the newspaper," said Harry.

"I'd rather study my textbooks," said Hermione.

"Do that too," said McGonagall, "but scholastically, those from wizarding families won't have nearly as much of a leg up on you as you might think. They'll have learned very little about magic that's practical and specific. What they'll have and you don't is background knowledge. Just knowing basic matters that 'everyone' knows. Read The Muggle-Born's guide, a daily paper, your History of Magic book and your Introduction to Magical Theory book and you'll be as prepared as any of them."

They'd each get the Daily Prophet, the large, moderate, prestigious paper, 5 times a week, and the Wonky Wizard, which was edgier and had more in the way of a high culture section, twice a week. It was cheaper for Harry, since his owl could do the carrying (Hedgwig had come with an instruction booklet), but it was just till they left for Hogwarts, two or so months away, so it wasn't expensive even for Hermione.

They went back to Flourish and Blott's, where Harry apologized to the cashier, introduced himself, and, at the cashier's recommendation, bought two slim volumes. A biography of James Potter, and a biography of Lily Evans Potter.

They got potions ingredients at the Apothecary, swung by Madam Malkin's to pick up their uniforms, and McGonagall said, "Grab your trunks, then grab me."

When the flash of darkness cleared they were on a residential street not unlike Privet Drive, though the houses were a room or two larger.

"Thank you, Professor," said Hermione. "See you at school, Harry."

"Yeah."

She started pulling her trunk toward a house with a red door.

"Should I write to you? I'd like the excuse to use the owl."  
"That'd be nice."

With one glance back, she went through the red door into the house.

"She's eager to tell her parents about her day," said McGonagall. "Grab on."

The flash of light, the flash of darkness, and they were on Privet Drive.

"Isn't it a problem if someone sees you?"

"I've cast a spell to make us very hard for muggles to notice."

"Invisible?"

"Unremarkable."

Harry took a deep breath. His clothing, wand and the like were in the trunk, but the books and the telescope, the things he could actually use before going to Hogwarts, were in the expanded, which was hidden in his jacket. Nothing to do but go inside.

"It's an impressive garden," said McGonagall.

"Thank you, I'm the gardener."

"Not a very interesting garden though."  
"I'm not the landscaper."

"Remember that you owe them very little," she said, and went through the door.

His Aunt and Uncle were huddled on the sofa, watching TV with an odd desperation, and they pressed back against the sofa when McGonagall came in behind Harry. "The second bedroom is empty?" she said.

Uncle Vernon nodded, purple faced and unspeaking. Aunt Petunia was looking at the owl on Harry's shoulder with a odd mixture of resignation, disgust and wistfulness.

Harry pulled his trunk up the stairs, then carried everything from his cupboard up in four armloads, then considered the only thing left, the cot which passed for his bed and took up most of the cupboard.

Professor McGonagall peered over his shoulder, and sighed. "Harry, consider this an early birthday present."

She waved her wand, and the cot was gone. She went upstairs, to the smallish room that was his, seeming palatial in comparison to the cupboard, and waved her wand a few more times.

A bed, a writing desk, a small bookcase, a dresser, and a perch for his owl, with a sandbox and a bowl of water.

Harry touched the foot of the bed, and his hand did not go through.

McGonagall said, "You may do very small matters – communicating with the owl, things you have a knack for, perhaps transforming yourself – the energy is directed internally - but don't attempt any spells, or anything that isn't tiny, or try to do anything with your wand, even if it is child-locked.

He sat on the bed, and knew he'd been fooling himself by thinking his cot was comfortable. Hedgwig few onto the perch.

McGonagall raised her voice so that the entire could hear, "And if you have any trouble, contact me. You know how. I'll come right away."

"Professor, thank you so much, I..."

"Happy almost Birthday, Harry Potter." A crack and flash, and she was gone.

#

#

The Dursleys were even more frightened than he'd expected.

"Did she turn something into a pig?" said Harry.

There was a lot of shouting, though not at him, which was a change, and Harry gathered that she'd turned Dudley into a pig. And then Dudley had eaten a radish, and Dudley, it seemed, wasn't that upset by being temporarily turned into a pig, regarding it, to Harry's surprise, as an interesting experience which hopefully would not put him off bacon, but he was bothered by his having eaten a radish, as he didn't like radishes, and where had the radish come from in the first place?

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia worried that being turned into a pig and back again had unsettled Dudley's mind.

Harry thought an unsettling of Dudley's mind could only result in improvement.

But mostly he ignored the Dursleys, and the Dursleys ignored him. He stayed in his room, where no one gave him any dirty looks, and settled into a wholesome routine.

The morning was devoted to chores. He made breakfast, did the dishes, and took care of the garden, which involved a lot of listening to the plants and bugs, directing good vibes at them, and doing small, wandless, wordless, instinctual magics to help them grow. He figured those were chores enough, and the one time Aunt Petunia had asked him to do something else he'd frowned, not done it, and she hadn't said anything.

After gardening, he read the Daily Prophet, (which always, when it mentioned the incoming Hogwarts class, mentioned that he would be in it). Then he read his textbooks till lunch, made himself lunch, most likely a sandwich, went back to his room, read textbooks, practiced tongue twisters, because the books were always emphasizing the importance of pronouncing the spells correctly, ate dinner, cleaned dinner up, and read more. He played a lot with Hedgwig, who was affectionate and loved chasing whatever he threw. Still, though he'd been called a bookworm a time or two, that was more reading than he quite liked, and somewhere in it all went for a walk.

He took different routes on his walks, but always went through the park, and swung on the swingset if it was free. If it wasn't free, he waited.

Then he slept, woke, and did it all again the next day.

He read his parents' biographies. Getting them at Flourish and Blotts, he'd imagined that they'd been written just because of what had happened with Voldemort, but as he read, he realized that if Voldemort had never existed, Lily and James Potter still would've had biographies written, though they wouldn't have been big sellers. The Muggle-born's Guide had briefly described James as a prominent transformations expert, and Lily as a prominent expert on Ancestral Curses, but that had undersold them.

They'd died at 22, and had already made enough important discoveries to furnish long and distinguished careers. It was an extra weight, thinking that he had to try and fill a Lily and James Potter-sized hole in the world.

Sometimes he drew, though he wasn't good at drawing, and read muggle books, though they didn't interest him so much as they had used to.

Sometimes at night he pointed his telescope through the window to at look at things from his astronomy book, though mostly he didn't bother with the telescope. He didn't have a good angle. It worked much better to turn into an owl, fly onto the roof, and look at the stars with an owl's powerful eyes.

He let Hedgwig out to hunt every night, and sometimes, though he didn't hunt himself, he flew with her.

He sent Hermione two letters, and she sent him two back. From what he could tell, she had a similar routine, though she made it through the textbooks much more quickly, and had nothing to do with owls.

Still, by the time the seven weeks till it was time to go to Hogwarts were up, he'd been through his Transfigurations, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms and Potions books once, History of Magic, Astronomy and Herbology twice, and The Muggle-born's Guide and Introduction to Magical Theory going on three times.

#

#

In preparation for his trip to Hogwarts he'd teased his bangs into growing in extra thick, thoroughly covering the half of his forehead that held his scar, opaque as a granite slab. He'd brushed it down with water and told it to stay, so it would. He might still be recognized on account of looking like his dad, but with the scar covered people would just wonder, not know.

The Muggle-born's Guide had made very, very clear what to do. Go to Platform 9, walk three-quarters of the way toward platform 10, and step through the wall, preferably with a decent head of a steam, with no one looking, and a lot of confidence that you would go through it.

That was fine in theory, but a little tough to work yourself up to while facing an apparently solid wall. He should hurry up though. He was getting looks from passerbys, even though Hedgwig's travel cage cast an illusion that made her look like a parrot.

A skinny red-haired boy, by himself with a big wheeled trunk and a rat on his shoulder.

"Hullo" the boy. "Are you muggle-born?"  
"Pretty much."

"So you probably don't know how to get through."

"I do, actually."

"What you do is face the wall at 9 and three-quarters, wait till no one's looking, and run through. You have to believe that you won't hit the wall, or at least not be certain that you will."

"Yes," said Harry.

They didn't run, but walked quickly, the wall looking very solid indeed, but glimmering faintly, closer and closer, Harry worrying not that the wall might be real, but that he might believe in the wall too much.

He kept his eyes open.

He could see the grain of the bricks, the mortar, a bit of dirt stuck on, the remains of an old cobweb, bigger, bigger, and just as it expanded to take in the universe, it disappeared.

Without encountering any resistance, they burst into a bright train station, full students in robes, carting trunks.

He laughed a little, and the red-haired boy said, "I'm Ron Weasley."

"Nice to meet you. I'm looking for a friend." He looked around, but it was quite a crowd. "A dark-haired muggle-born named Hermione Granger."

"A girl," Ron said.

Harry shrugged.

Ron said, "If you're both muggle-borns, how do you known each other? Are you from the same muggle neighborho-that's unlikely. Did you meet while getting your school supplies?"  
Harry blinked. "Professor McGonagall took us together."

He and Ron found her in an otherwise empty train car, desperately reading a book.

He wondered if she wanted him to join her. She probably didn't want him acting like they were friends just because they'd gone shopping together. And it wasn't as if he didn't have anyone else to talk to. He seemed to have acquired Ron, though it was unclear whether that was good.

She looked up from her book. "Harry! Take a seat."

"Harry?" said Ron.

Harry took a seat as Hermione closed her book. The potions book.

"How many times have you read that?"  
"I don't remember."  
Ron said, "Harry Potter?"

"Yes."

"Prove it."

"Okay, but only after you prove you're Ron Wesley."  
"Weasley."

"See, you can't do it."

Hermione said, "Harry, everyone will know, and doing that will get old. Just-" she motioned.

Harry brushed his hair aside so Ron could see the scar.

"Wow. Cool. Like a lightning bolt. From when you killed You-Know-Who."

Harry said, "You're from a wizarding family? Hermione and I were raised by muggles. What's a wizarding family like?"

That changed the topic, and Ron waxed on about his having a mom and a dad (very magical and mysterious, that) five older brothers (that was a lot of brothers) and a younger sister (would wonders never cease?)

When Ron started talking about Quidditch and who his favorite players were, a topic he seemed to have segued into from something about one of his brothers, Harry began wondering how to make it stop.

Hermione said, "I've never seen Quidditch."

"You've got seven positions, two beaters, three chasers, one-"

"I know the rules," said Hermione. "It's explained in the guide." She waved it. "I've just never seen it."  
"It's very fast. Very fun. I remember one time-"  
Hermione said, "I wondered about the snitch. Doesn't it make the rest of the game kind of pointless since catching it is worth so much more than scoring a goal?"  
Harry had wondered the same thing.

Ron said, "Yes, so, not really. That's the whole basis of Quidditch strategy. If you have your beaters help the seeker, the other team will run up the score so much with goals that even the snitch won't help, but if you have your beaters focusing on goal scoring, the other team, one that's focusing more on snitch-catching, might catch the snitch before you've run the score up high enough."

He kept talking about Quidditch strategy, Harry and Hermione changed the subject a couple times, and quickly realized that Ron was a walking, talking version of the Muggle-born's Guide. You could put him on any topic and he'd tell you about it either till he'd exhausted everything he knew, or you'd changed the subject.

Harry had worried that the friendship between him and Hermione might dissipate once they were in Hogwarts, surrounded by many other students, and probably some of them muggle-born, that friendship might evaporate. Especially since he was a boy and she was a girl – there were fewer friendships like that. And they'd probably get sorted into different houses. But for now, the friendship was surviving the train ride.

Harry said, "Which house do you want to get in?"

"Gryffindor," said Ron. "All my family are Gryffindors."

Hermione said, "Gryffindor would be good, or Ravenclaw."

Ron said, "All my brothers, my parents, my grandparents, all Gryffindors, there's one Uncle who's a Hufflepuff, we don't hold it against him."

Hermione said, "If I had to choose one I'd say Ravenclaw, but Gryffindor is a close second."

Ron said, "But would you believe it, he always comes to Christmas wearing Hufflepuff colors."

"How about you, Harry."  
Harry shrugged. "I thought Slytherin had a lot to recommend it."

Hermione recoiled.

"Except for the one, very unfortunate trait it has which puts it completely out of the question," continued Harry, and Hermione relaxed.

Ron said, "But anything would be fine, I guess, except Slytherin. My family would disown me if I got sorted into Slytherin."

Harry said, "So maybe Hufflepuff."  
Ron said, "Horrible place, Slytherin. All the dark wizards are from Slytherin."

"Hufflepuff?" said Hermione.

"It sounds very peaceful."

Ron said, "They ought to kick all the Slytherins out and make it just the three decent houses. They're very exclusionary."

Hermione blinked at Harry. "A house that takes pride in its plainness, where no one's likely to get any unwarranted attention."

Harry smiled.

Ron said, "Harry, which house do you want to get into?

"That's for the Sorting Hat to decide."

#  
#

All the first years looked at the hat which had just finished singing.

Professor McGonagall said, "Abbott, Hanna."

Ms. Abbott stepped forward, put it on...

HUFFLEPUFF!

And the procession went forward. Sometimes it took a moment, sometimes thirty seconds passed. A brief procedure to decide what was, from what Harry could tell, one of the most important outcomes in a wizard's life.

When he'd first read The Muggle-born's Guide's descriptions, he'd thought Slytherin sounded very Harryesque. Ambitious, but prudently. Pursuing their aims in ways that weren't obvious. And very fond of history and heritage, which fit as well, since he'd always preferred history to math. Though there had been a few things about "Heritage" he hadn't understood.

On his second read, it'd dawned on him that the book was couching in delicate terms that House Slytherin was aggressively and openly racist against muggle-borns and the descendants of muggle-borns.

Harry knew about racism; it was in his Muggle history textbooks, which generally explained that racism was very, very evil, and their country had used to be racist, but it wasn't anymore, which was how you knew their country was great; it had stopped being so evil.

A few details in the Daily Prophet had corroborated, and he'd decided that Slytherin was not an option.

Ravenclaw sounded intimidating; he'd been an unexceptional student, and he got a little bored when people talked too long about ideas.

Gryffindor: brave, passionate, headstrong, following their hearts and getting into trouble. He didn't know whether he was brave, but the rest was surely not him.

That left Hufflepuff, which was full of kind, hardworking ordinary people. If you went to Hufflepuff, and were ordinary, fine, that was all anyone expected, but if you went to Hufflepuff and you were awesome, you were twice as awesome as if you did it at another house, because you were understated while you did it.

Hermione went up, and took longer than anyone else. Nearly a minute had passed before the hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!"

When Professor McGonagall said, "Potter, Harry!" the hall broke into whispering.

Harry ignored it, and McGonagall set the hat on his head.

"Not Slytherin," he thought.

"Not Slytherin?" said a dry voice that noticeably skipped his ears. "There's a confident request from a confident young man. No matter how much you're losing, you always think you're going to win, don't you? Not Slytherin? You could be great there."

"Maybe, but not Slytherin. Hufflepuff."

The hat laughed. "You're balanced, more or less, but Hufflepuff is your third. More Hufflepuff than Ravenclaw..." The hat paused. "'Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage.' You read that in English class, and it comforted you when you were locked in the cupboard. Still, you don't care quite enough about the abstractions themselves. Gryffindor suits you better."

"Gryffindor! I'm not at all like them." And it was the flashiest House.

The hat laughed at him. "You don't want Slytherin, you don't want Gryffindor. I do take student's opinions into account, but I am the sorting hat – you don't get to sort yourself. Your friend's already in Gryffindor."

"Fine. Gryffindor."

"Gryffindor!" shouted the hat, and this time his ears heard it.

The hat was taken off, and the entire hall was cheering.

That's how it sounded for a moment, but it was just the Gryffindor table making all that noise, chants starting of "We got Potter, we got Potter, we got Potter."

Smiling weakly, trying to suppress the rise of red to his face, he walked to the Gryffindor table.

Teenagers slapped him on the back, welcoming him to Gryffindor, and a boy named Percy, who seemed to be one of Ron's older brothers, shook his hand and sat next to him.

Harry nodded, smiled, thanked people for whatever nice things they said, just as McGonagall had told him to, and wondered how long it would take for people to more or less stop looking at him.

#

#

Harry ate till he was full, ate more because he'd always eaten as much as he was allowed, ate more than that because it was so good, and stomach bulging, concluded he could eat no more. He stuffed several biscuits in his pockets, noticed his hand had grabbed another of the biscuits and was reaching for the honey. He put the honey back, ate the biscuit, told himself that was the end, had the mixed greens, a dish he hadn't known could be so good, more mixed greens, a piece of ham, and, as his stomach began to really hurt, desert appeared.

"I can't eat anymore," Harry groaned.

"There's always room for pie," Ron said, taking two large slices and a scoop of ice-cream.

Harry watched him eat, thinking that Ron, who was shorter and nearly as scrawny, had already eaten more than he had, and seemed ready to eat it all again, and their stomachs must be made of different stuffs.

"Come on," said Ron. "It'll only be your first Hogwarts meal once."

Harry set to it heroically, eating a slice of apple pie, a cherry tart, and something that reminded him of brownies, fudge, and an orange.

All at once, the deserts disappeared.

In the hush, Dumbledore rose. "Just a few more words now that we're all fed and watered. First-years should note that the entire forest is forbidden to them without supervision. Second-years up and should remember that the Forbidden Forest is forbidden to them, which is why we call it that. Do not go through the hedge.

"First through third-years are not to use any magic without supervision. In class, in the practice room, and nowhere else. Fourth years, don't abuse your new privileges, and everyone, remember not to use any magic in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. First-years, you are not eligible, and no, an exception will NOT be made for you."

"Finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

A few students laughed, and trailed off as they realized few others were laughing.

"Is he serious?" Harry asked Percy.

Percy nodded, drawing himself up. "Us prefects have already been told about it. It shouldn't be a problem. The seals on the door are very, very good."

Harry mostly thought about that as the Dumbledore introduced the Professors, noting only that the core subjects had elementary and advanced teachers, and Professors McGonagall and Talbor were switching, meaning that Professor McGonagall would be his transfiguration teacher.

He started when, at the introduction of the new Elementary Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, a Professor Quirrel, who was sitting next to the black cloaked man Harry thought taught potions, the students broke into oddly timbered cheers, and the Weasley twins congratulated the turbaned man on being brave.

Harry supposed it was a tough class to teach, young students using dangerous spells they couldn't control.

All of a sudden his scar burned. Harry slapped his hand to his forehead.

An older Gryffindor boy stared at him, and he turned the slap into an absent-minded scratch.

"Is something the matter?" said Percy. "You look pale."

"Just tired," said Harry. "It's been a long day. When do we go to bed?"

#

#

The dorm was full of four poster beds, and next to each bed unoccupied bed was a set of luggage. Harry recognized his own trunk, and, with it, Hedgwig, anxious to be let out of her cage.

When he undid the latch she burst out of the cage, flew twice around the room, causing Neville to stumble back and fall on a bed, before settling on his shoulder and rubbing against his neck.

He stroked her, showed her the owl stand by his bed, then opened the window. She disappeared into the night, and Harry turned to see his roommates casting him admiring glances.

"You're really close with that owl," said Ron.

Harry said nothing, then nodded slightly, the response he'd developed to deal with Uncle Vernon's rants. More seemed required, so he curled his lips and said, "Yes."

Percy began pointing out to them their beds, explaining that they were four posters beds, as if that wasn't perfectly obvious, which would provide a modicum of privacy, then showed them the quieters, which would assist that privacy, but more importantly, would guarantee that snores did not keep them up.


	2. Chapter 2: The Girl Who Was Better

Ch 2: The Girl Who Was better

Though he had the quieter turned high as he slept, Harry knew when Hedgwig came to the window an hour before dawn, and woke up to let her in. She chirped happily, conveying images of all the little mice she'd eaten, and Harry collapsed back into bed. After a moment, Hedgwig fought through the curtains to join him and went to sleep on his hip, a position he'd gotten used to at home, and they slept together.

Then were woken two hours later by Ron inviting Harry to play a game.

The 10 first year Gryffindor boys sat around introducing themselves and playing a card game called Exploding Snap, which depended mainly on being fast with your eyes and hands, though it was complicated by the occasional explosion of the cards.

Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Marco Mendez, Dean Tomas, Seamus Finnegan, Ben Nan, Tucker Rivett, Raymond Douglas, and Joshua Burns. He'd be dorming with them for the next seven years, so Harry hoped they got on well.

Two pair, Harry slapped, just barely beating Dean's hand to it,

Two pair, higher suit. Harry slapped, just barely beating Ron.

Two pair, Marco got it.

Two pair, Harry. Two pair, Dean.

Neville dropped out, then Seamus and Joshua. Tucker, Raymond, Marco, Ben, till it was just Harry, Ron and Dean, Harry holding a little over half the remaining cards.

Harry had just slapped again, and Ron was on the edge of elimination, when there was a knock on the door, and Percy entered. "Time for breakfast, first years."

"Saved by big brother," said Dean, and they followed the Prefect to breakfast.

There were no classes the first day, just orientation and organized games to get them to know each other, some with the Gryffindor girls, some without. Most of the others seemed to enjoy it, but Harry was impatient to learn magic.

Harry approached Shelby Blank, the TA who was administering the orientation alongside Percy. "Excuse me, when do we start classes?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "When?"  
"Tomorrow," said Shelby. "You wish it were today?"  
Harry, Hermione, and a few others nodded.

"You have your wand?"

All the students took theirs out. Shelby did not so much wave her wand as twitch it, and all the metal tips, the child locks, clattered to the floor. Her wand twitched again, and the tips flew into a wastebasket.

Percy said, "Shelby, I think this is very unw-"

"Stuff it Percy."

Percy stuffed it. Students graduated Hogwarts after 7 years, but some of the best were invited to stay and extra year or two and work as TAs for the Professors. Harry had only vague ideas of how muggle college worked, based off movies, TV shows and overheard conversations, but he thought the TAs were like graduate students.

"Take a seat, everyone."

They sat in a semi-circle on a set of benches. Harry found himself with Ron and one side and Lavender Brown on the other, Hermione just on the other side of Lavender.

"What to teach you... I certainly don't want to steal your Professors' lesson plans. We'll do something more general. The single most important skill a first-year must learn is to reliably draw forth magic. Actually performing spells is the easiest way. The incantations and wand movements are like pumps, drawing the magic up, and over time you get the hang of it. But there are more organic methods we might essay.

"Tell me, first-years, where in your body does your magic dwell?"

"Your stomach," said Ron.

"Your mind," said Lavender.

Shelby shook her head.

"It's nowhere," said Harry and Hermione together. "It's nowhere, and then it comes out of you."

Shelby said, "Correct. The rest of you, did only the muggle-born students read through Introduction to Magical Theory? Or the introduction of any of your wand classes?"

"I r-r-read them," said Neville, looking at his feet.

"Then why didn't you remember."

"I, I, I just-"  
"Didn't remember," said Shelby. "Which is no surprise. To the wizard-born it's just one more dry fact, but to the muggle-born, or, in reference to Potter I suppose I should say, to the muggle-raised, it's a sentence to make you sit up and take notice. That magic exists in potentia in the realm of nothing, nowhere and nowhen, then you wave your wand and it's in front of you. So our task is to establish the connection with nowhere, invite the magic out."

Percy whispered in her ear.

"No Percy, it's not dangerous. A bunch of firsties will be lucky to create more than a few sparks, but tell me, firsties, why might Percy think it's dangerous?"

Hermione said, "Without a spell to name the potential, any magic might came out."

"Correct. One point for Gryffindor."

Percy said, "You need a professor's oversight to award points-"

"I'll clear it with McGonagall later. But there are other ways to name the magic. We will use visualization." This time Harry did not see the wand even twitch, but suspended in the air in front of the group, a light appeared. Small, a roiling spark of green and silver light, several feet off the ground.

"Watch carefully."

The silver and green moved about the spark in a short pattern that Harry had memorized by the seventh repetition.

"Point your wand at the spark," said Shelby. "Close your eyes, and imagine the spark, including, especially including, its pattern of blinking. Imagine nothing but the spark. The pattern of the spark's changing is not unlike the pattern of stresses and sounds in an incantation, or of wand movements. But, because you're not carrying out the pattern physically, the call to magic is much weaker. So you must let it grow in your mind till it is the only thing, till there is nothing in the world but the spark you are imagining."

Harry was vaguely aware that she was moving through among the first years, offering advice and correction, but that awareness fell away.

A hand touched his back, and for a moment magic thrilled through him, then out his wand. For an instant, he was connected to... something. He thought Shelby had demonstrated the spell to him, but he did not follow the line of thought, just focusing on the spark he was imagining.

When the magic finally came, Harry could not have said where in him it started, but it went down his arm, through his hand, and out his wand.

Abruptly, in the middle of his mind, along with the spark of his imagining, another spark, and a tremendous ball of green and silver like the sun.

He started, lost the connection, and opened his eyes. Shelby's spark was exactly where it had been before, and another, even smaller spark had appeared, just barely touching it, reminding Harry of a docked ship. He thought it was Hermione's spark.

"Re-establish it," said Shelby. "And this time don't jerk when you make it."

By the time Harry had re-established, another spark had joined Hermione's. At first Harry kept all his attention on keeping his spark from winking out, but as minutes wore on he found it easier, and paid attention to the other sparks, which somehow suggested personalities.

Hermione's was bright, curious, and tense. The other spark that had beaten him to it was mellow, eager to please, and unplaceable. Harry didn't recognize anyone but Hermione till Ron joined, frenetic and inward-turned. Finally, a hesitant, timid, but somehow very persistent spark that Harry guessed was Neville appeared, and all 21 first year Gryffindors had managed the spell, all the sparks but Hermione's winking occasionally in and out.

At the center of them all was what Harry thought was the vast spark, which Harry thought was a window into the nothingness from which magic sprang. Vast, dark, ravenous, complicated and dangerous, but not unkind.

Shelby spoke. "What you feel from your classmates now is a shallow shadow of what the sorting hat felt. Appropriate for getting to know one another. But no, it's not a spell you'll be able to cast yourselves. My hosting of it is greatly more complicated than your participating in it."

The central spark vanished, all the other sparks vanished with it, and Harry realized that the vast, ravenous magic had not been the nothingness from which magic sprang, but just Shelby's presence.

"That should give you a slight head start in your classes," she said.

#

#

Charms was their very first class, and Harry was so excited he couldn't sit still. He'd looked at spells in the textbook, descriptions of pronunciation and wand movements, and had been desperate to try it, and now he could.

When class started, Professor Flitwick called roll, talked about charms, safety, the importance of only practicing magic when supervised, the importance of proper pronunciation and mechanics, introduced his two TAs, told them to mind what the portraits, all former masters of charms said, then gave them their first lesson.

"Epoximise," said Harry, waving his wand at the two brass knuts stacked on his desk. He picked the top one up, and there was no resistance between it and the other.

He put it back and tried again. Again and again, his wand occasionally shooting sparks, but not bonding the two coins together.

A row away, Hermione picked up her top coin, and the bottom coin came with it.

By the end of class, Harry thought there was some bonding between his two coins, but it was so slight he wasn't sure it was real. Ron and Dean, who were sitting on either side of him, did no better, which helped stave off the waking nightmare, the thought that he was part squib, that muggleness had come through from his mother's side, and he couldn't do wand magic at all.

In transfigurations, McGonagall lectured on safety, talked a little about transfiguration theory, saying they'd spend a lot more time on it as the year went by, turned her desk into a horse, and turned it back, to great excitement from the students, then set them to turning matchsticks silver.

By the end of class, Harry, like most of the others, had given his matchstick a silvery gleam. Hermione had turned her match silver, turned it back, and done it again.

After that, lunch, then History of Magic, co-taught by a young witch named Cevita Falls and a ghost named Binns who had been the History of Magic Professor a hundred years ago. Binns kept finding ways to use going in and out of walls to illustrate his point, and Harry decided it would be a fun class.

After that they were done for the day, with no homework yet assigned except for readings that Harry had already done, and he, along with all the other first years, went to the practice room.

The practice room was run by Ms. Kransterry, a rotating cast of students in years 5-7, and whichever TAs were available. It was large, and had only students from years 1-3, as fourth-years and up could practice wherever they liked, but Harry thought it ought to be bigger.

Even crowded as it was, Harry and Ron found a place to sit together, and each took out two bronze nuts and four wooden matchsticks.

The matchsticks first, since he'd already had some success with them.

He made progress, and Ron said, "You're pretty good."

"Thanks." His matchstick was mostly silver, though it had taken a few repetitions of the spell without reverting to get there.

"Any advice?" Ron's matchstick had just the faintest glimmer of silver and had sprouted small flowers.

Harry shrugged. "Practice the motion without attempting the spell. The spell works better when it feels smooth coming down your arm."

They kept at it, and the portrait on the wall above them, an old man in a white wig, said, "Red-head boy, are you the latest Weasley?"  
"Yes," said Ron.

"Thought so. Go up a little more quickly, and when you bring the wand back around, make the curve wider. And black-haired boy, your curve is a little fast compared to the rest of your motion."

"Couldn't I just speed the rest up?"

"It's easier to make the curve slower. And you're making the right shape, but you're drawing it small. Eventually, smaller will be better, but for now, do it big and slow."

"I saw a witch yesterday whose wand barely moved when she did spells."

"Someday you may also internalize the motions. For now, do it properly. Like this." The wizard demonstrated, and the wood cup on the table next to him in the portrait turned silver.

Harry made his motions a little bigger and a little slower, especially the curve back around, and after a couple of tries, turned the matchstick completely silver. Then back to how it had been, then silver again.

Ron's match turned a bit more silvery.

Harry tried making the motion smaller and quicker, and almost turned a finger silver.

"Don't rush," said the portrait. "If you go fast before you're ready, you'll just make mistakes and hurt yourself.

He did it a few more times, just a little smaller and faster than the portrait had demonstrated, then started on the bronze knuts.

By the time the dinner bell rang, Harry had gotten the knuts to stick together well enough that it that he could drop them on the table without them coming apart, and Ron was changing his match to silver and back.

Across the room, other first years were having similar success.

He looked at Hermione's table. She'd been working with twigs, not matchsticks, and she'd turned one silver, one bronze, and one gold, and she'd stuck them together, then stuck them to the desk.

#

#

Having heard mutters about the teacher, and being especially wary on account of it being their first class with Slytherin, Gryffindor's traditional rival, Harry read his potion's book over the breakfast table. Most of it, being a list of a recipes, was boring, but the explanations were passable, occasionally even interesting, so he stuck to those.

"Seriously?" said Ben.

Harry nodded.

"You don't actually have to learn the material before class. That's what class is for."

He shrugged.

"I don't see anyone else reading their potions book."

"Hermione is."  
"I mean, besides Hermione. Do you really want to be mentioned in the same sentence as her?"

Harry thought the answer was yes, if the sentence were about who the best students in the first year were, and he wasn't really sure what Ben was getting at.

Harry said, "Do you think Dumbledore was the type to read his potions book at the breakfast table?"

That shut Ben up, and Harry kept at it.

#

The dungeon was cold and drafty, and Harry felt an instinctive wariness toward the middle-aged man who stalked around like a big crow. That was only heightened when the man referred to Harry as a 'celebrity' during roll.

Then the usual talk about safety, the introduction of himself as Severus Snape, then a speech about how potions was better than other magics and they were probably too dumb to learn it.

Harry listened with a detached fascination. Most of the teachers had had a certain element of performance to their introductions, but this was a level of stage acting so high Harry wasn't sure it wasn't real.

"...if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach," he concluded.

Then, "Potter, What would you get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"  
Hermione's hand shot up.

Wow. On the spot. "Something dangerous," said Harry.

"Really, something dangerous in a potions class?"

The class laughed, a white-haired Slytherin boy laughing especially hard.

Harry said, "I think it's a sleeping potion. A dangerous sleeping potion."

The class quieted, and Snape stepped a little closer. "Go on Potter. What's it called?"  
His mouth worked. He remembered this one, it had a very simple recipe and a very flashy name, it was on the tip of his tongue. "Something of the living death?"  
"Draught of the Living Death, Potter. 'Something of the living death' sounds like an obscure way to refer to a vampire's possessions." The class laughed again, but it was different. Most of them were thinking they wouldn't have known that.

"You've at least cracked open your textbooks. Tell me, Potter, what's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Monkshood and wolfsbane? "Wolfsbane, also called aconite, is the main ingredient in the wolfsbane potion, which helps werewolves control the change." His father had helped invent the wolfsbane potion. "I don't remember what monkshood is."  
"Then you certainly can't tell me the difference. But no need to worry, there is no difference,

"Then you certainly can't tell me the difference. But no need to worry, there is no difference, monkshood is another name for wolfsbane. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"An old oak's roots next to-"

"A bezoar, Potter, not a bejore."

"I'm sorry sir, I have no idea."

"You don't even care to take a guess?"  
"No, sir." He glanced at Hermione, who had raised her hand so high she was stretching her spine, but had had enough sense to not try and whisper the answer. "Maybe you should ask her Hermione, she seems to know."  
There was a strange feeling, like a feather tickling the inside of his head, and Harry jerked involuntarily to the side, drawing more titters from the class.

Snape said, "Granger, in the future do not try and intrude yourself when I am asking a student questions. If I wanted to know what you knew, I would ask you. But go ahead and tell Potter where to find a bezoar."

"A goat's stomach."

"Accurately answered, Granger. Potter... you'll have to do better than that if you want to pass an exam. Everyone who couldn't have done so well, ask yourselves why two students who found out that there's such a thing as potions class two months ago know more than you. Zero points for Gryffindor."

#

#

"...Zero points for Gryffindor?..."

"...What does that mean? Why bother to say it?..."

"...it's Snape..."

"...Snape never gives points to Gryffindor..."

"...He still didn't..."

"...Yes, but this time he said he didn't..."

Harry and Hermione having gotten zero points for Gryffindor in potions was all anyone seemed to want to talk about at lunch, and Harry was having trouble understanding why.

"But we literally got zero points. People get zero points all the time. Every other Gryffindor besides Neville got zero points too." Neville had gotten minus five.

George or Fred Weasley, the twins apparently owning the right to explain how severely Severus Snape treated Gryffindors, said, "Yes, but the old bat didn't say it to them. He hates Gryffindor. Him asking you a question is an instant minus two. Getting a zero from him is a like getting a twenty from someone else. I've never heard of it happening before."

"How can he be a teacher if he hates a quarter of the students?"

"Ptah," said Fred or George. "This is Hogwarts. He shows it more, but all the teachers at least dislike a quarter of the students. The Ravenclaws hate the Hufflepuffs for being simple and small-minded. The Hufflepuffs hate the Ravenclaws for confusing philosophical navel gazing with being smart. The Gryffindors hate the Slytherins for being bigoted schemers, and the Slytherins hate the Gryffindors for being self-righteous idiots who win anyway."

"The natural order of the world," said George or Fred. "Though Gryffindor and Slytherin do hate each other more than Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff hate each other."

"Excuse me," said Harry. "You're George, and you're Fred?"

"Yes," they said.

"Good. I'm going to turn around, you'll both move a bit, then I'll see if I can still say who's who."

He turned, they shuffled, he turned again... "Fred and George."

The grins were getting a bit curious. "Is it something we're wearing?" They examined themselves. "Maybe it's a scuff on-"

"It's not what you're wearing," said Harry. "Again."

It was longer before they told him to turn around.

"Fred and George."

"Did you notice we'd changed our robes?" George said.

"I'm only looking at your faces."  
"He is only looking at our faces. George, is there dirt on my nose?"

"It's not dirt on your nose." Harry shoved a last bread roll in his mouth. "I have to get to the practice room and practice transfiguring. Maybe then I can get an actual point for Gryffindor. Hermione, I'm leaving."

She said, "I'm talking to Lavender. I'll probably you see at the practice room in a little."

Ron said, "I'm coming," and he and Harry went together.

#

#

There were three adults in the Defense Against the Dark Arts room: Professor Quirrel, the turbaned man who'd been introduced at the opening dinner as the new Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Shelby Blank, and another TA who Quirrel introduced as Robert Nix once everyone had arrived.

Quirrel said, "Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. I call it that, but that is largely not what you will be learning. 11 years-olds can not, by the end of one year of study, learn to defend themselves in any serious way against the dark arts. Nor should they put themselves in the position of having to try. Nevertheless, I am expected to teach you practical skills.

"The first and most important skill, which will account for half of your grade, is book learning. There is nothing you can do about a bogart, dementor or troll, or even a grendel, but you can learn to recognize it as such, know what not to do, and when you run to a teacher, convey some useful information. This book learning will account for two-fifths of your grade."

"You will learn spells. Spells to hide you, though not well, and spells create a distraction so you can run away, though they will not be good distractions. You will learn a few spells which might immobilize enemies of your own level, of which there are precious few, and you will learn to deal with a few minor pests which have nothing to do with the dark arts, but have been placed in your textbook because dealing with them is within your capabilities. Your competency in these spells will account for three-tenths of your grade."

"Finally, we will play Dagarary. This will be one-fifth of your grade."

Lavender Brown squealed, Neville Longbottom quailed, and Ron pumped his fist.

"Dagarary was first invented as a substitute for dueling, the idea being that if you lost to someone at Dagarary, you would probably lose at dueling, so just try Dagarary and no one would die. It is not, I regret to inform you, a perfect substitute for actual combat, but it is good enough that we may consider that, when we play Dagarary, we are practicing the fundamental skills needed for a fight.

"Ms. Blank, take your position."

There were two circles draw on the floor, inside a long rectangle, and Shelby and Quirrel each took a circle, facing one another. "Dagarary Contentius," they both said. They pointed their wands at the red dots in the center of their respective circles, the silence tense, the students on the edge of their seats.

Hermione, who'd had her hand raised for a while, said, "Excuse me sir, that's only nine-tenths. What's the other one-tenth of our grade?"

"Participation, Granger."

And there was a beep.

In an instant, the Dagarists' wands were pointed at each other. A ball of red light shot out of Shelby's, and was deflected by a hanging wedge of red light put out by Quirrel's wand. A moment later the wedge was destroyed by a blue light from Shelby, which hit, and was extinguished by a green wedge Quirrel had set up. Quirrel attacked with blue, was beat back with green, Shelby attacked with green, Quirrel's red wedge destroyed it, and was destroyed an instant later by the blue Shelby had followed the green with. The red was deflected by another red, which was destroyed by a blue, and Quirrel leaned out of the way to avoid being hit by it.

"Stop," said Quirrel, and Shelby stopped. "You've seen enough to get the idea. Green beats blue, blue beats red, and red beats green. A stationary wedge is useful for deflecting attacks. Attacks, deflected or otherwise, vanish when they reach the edge of the drawn court."

Harry hadn't noticed that. He'd been too intent on the game itself.

"When two of the same color meet, say, red and red, it's purely a competition of strength. Hypothetically, any color can beat its nemesis, such as green beating red, if the strength differential is large enough, but if that's the case you've already lost, and easily.

"Rather than deflecting with a wedge, it's best to destroy a green attack by driving your own red attack through it, but that requires extreme precision, especially since, as you will see in a moment, attacks don't have to move in straight lines. And these circles we stand in are large enough that moving about changes the angle non-trivially. Shelby and I are about to resume our demonstration, and this time you'll find it harder to follow what's happening. Ready, Shelby?"

"Whenever you are, Professor."

Quirrel struck first, and there was a profusion of flashing lights, curving around crazily, appearing as quickly as they disappeared, 10 or 20 at once, running into each other, exploding, coming out from blind spots, and the combatants themselves were moving, utilizing the full extent of their circles, dodging to let attacks fly by.

A green orb broke through, curving widely, straightened out, and as Quirrel moved aside, curved again, and struck the Professor on the side of his turban.

All the lights vanished, and Professor glowed bright green.

"Dagarary Finitum," they both intoned.

The class was quiet, having just seen the Defense Professor beaten by his own TA, but Quirrel was smiling as the green faded away.

"Ms. Blank, tell them how you spent your summer."

"As I was Hogwarts Dagarary champion my 6th year, and then of course my 7th year too, I spent the summer competing on the professional circuit. I won a few very minor tournaments in Britain and France, then made the third round at Manchester, the quarters at New York, and the semis at Shenzhen, and was widely tipped as a future champion. I might be fighting for the Bali title right now, and quite a lot of prize money, if I hadn't decided to come back to Hogwarts for an eighth year."

Quirrell said, "You understand why, rather than being embarrassed, I'm just pleased I made her work hard."

The week went on. They practiced the basic spells needed to attempt Dagarary. They learned the foundational telekinetic spell, Wingardium Levioso, and while Harry got his feather to stand up by the end of the class, Hermione's floated around her head, and she swished it around. She turned stacks of needles into tiny little chairs, made her first potion so well that Snape simply passed by and said nothing (Harry was lectured for having too many bubbles), got perfects on their first two quizzes, and Professor Sprout of Herbology read a section of her first report aloud to the class, all that with her spending less time at the practice room than he. Instead, she did supplementary reading.

It began to irritate Harry a little, and then came broomstick riding.

#

#

It was halfway through the second week. All the Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years gathered on the field together and faced Madam Hooch for the first lesson broomsticks.

"Up," said Harry, without quite the volume that Madam Hooch had recommended, and the handle of the broom smacked into his palm. Holding it, he watched the other students struggle. Ron's wouldn't come all the way up, and Hermione's broom lolled around on the ground, reminiscent of Harry's attempts to get the feather to rise. She finally stooped to get it.

Draco Malfoy, the white-haired Slytherin boy who'd laughed at him especially hard in potions, was the only other student who got the broom immediately up.

As Madam Hooch instructed them on mounting. Neville, with his face pale and knees trembling slightly, rocketed into the air.

"Get down from there, you silly boy," yelled Madam Hooch.

He got down through the simplest manner: he fell off his broom. Landing, there was a crack, and Neville screamed.

Madam Hooch ran to him.

"You've broken your wrist," he heard her telling Neville. "The rest of you, don't go anywhere, and don't get on a broom, or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'."

Harry couldn't take that threat seriously. As he understood it, being expelled from Hogwarts very nearly made a you second-class citizen, never to be a real witch or wizard; the administration couldn't possibly expel students so casually.

Madam Hooch helped Neville hobble off, and Draco picked a pinkish glass ball off the ground where Neville had fallen. "The stupid thing his gran sent him."

Harry said, "Nicely spotted, Draco. His remembrall. Toss it here, and I'll get it back to him." He was smiling friendlily, but Draco's returning smile wasn't friendly at all.

"I've got a better idea."

"Give it here!" said Ron, white-faced, advancing toward Malfoy, who backpedaled.

Harry held the red-haired boy back. "Ron, calm down. Going incandescent won't help."

"But he's not going to give it back."

"Malfoy, are you going to give it back?"

"No."

"See Ron. He's not going to give it back, so there's nothing to worry about. In a few minutes Madam Hooch will come back, and we'll all say that Malfoy took Neville's Remembrall and won't give it back. Madam Hooch will find it on him, and it will be resolved very quickly. He'll spend an unknown time in detention, which ought to warm the heart of anyone who doesn't like him, as it seems you don't."

Draco bit his lip, and Harry met his eyes, trying to convey the sense that the thing to do was to toss the ball at Harry's feet. That would be sufficiently contemptuous to save face with Slytherin, and all anyone would be able to accuse Malfoy of was picking up Neville's Remembrall and giving it to Harry to return to Neville.

Instead, Malfoy slung his leg over the broom and shot into the air. Thirty feet up, he turned. "If you want it, come and get it.

Harry looked at the broom he still held, and dropped it. "I'll let you suffer through detention by yourself, thanks very much."

Ron started for his own broom, and Harry kicked it away. "Ron, our defense book gives instructions on the leglocker curse. I don't want to try it out on you. Keep your feet on the ground."

"But-"  
"Ben, keep a hold of Ron, please."

Hermione, who was taller than either of them, grabbed Ron by the arm.

Harry stared at Malfoy, doing circles in the air, and waited for him to work out that, if he didn't do something, when Madam Hooch came back she'd find Malfoy flying on a broomstick holding an injured boy's possession.

From the strain in Malfoy's voice when he said, "You're a coward, Potter," Harry thought he'd already realized. "A cowardly Gryffindor."

"An imprudent Slytherin. Whose idea of clever is this?"

"I'm going to throw it."

Harry fished his wand out of his pocket, keeping it hidden at his side.

"Longbottom can get it from the top of a tree, or broken off the ground."

Harry said nothing. Trying to get Malfoy to come meekly back to the ground and hand him the Remembrall wouldn't work.

Malfoy threw it, and Harry raised his wand. "Wingardium Levioso."

The spell missed.

Another voice said, "Wingardium Levioso!" and the Remembrall stopped, rose slightly, and plunged again.

Harry was already running.

Again Hermione said, "Wingardium Levioso," and the remembrall's fall stopped, then rose a little.

Malfoy dove for it, and Hermione jerked it aside, even though they hadn't learned that yet, and Malfoy went streaking by.

It fell the remaining five feet to Harry, who caught it cleanly, and pocketed it.

"Thank you Hermione. I don't know if you could've done that without me, but I couldn't have done it without you." She had done that while still holding on to Ron with her offhand. He smiled at Malfoy, who was only a little ways off the ground. "Thanks for tossing it to me, but work on your aim."  
"DRACO MALFOY!" Madam Hooch's voice. "GET DOWN FROM THERE."

Malfoy hurried to the turf, dropped the broom, and Madam Hooch kept on yelling, asking him what he was doing up there without giving him the chance to reply, the voices of the other Slytherins a confused babble around them.

"Excuse me," said Harry. "Excuse me, Madam Hooch." He tugged on her sleeve. She turned to him, looking ready to yell, and stopped as she recognized him, though Harry wasn't sure whether that was because he was Harry Potter or just because he was a Gryffindor.

Harry, speaking nothing but the truth, said, "He wasn't happy to be up there, Professor. He was holding the broom, and then he rocketed up there, without really thinking about it, I'm sure, and once he was up there, he was cautious about coming down. After what just happened with Neville shooting up by accident, I wonder if someone shouldn't check over these brooms."

The Gryffindors stared, the Slytherins too, but after a moment the Slytherins adopted and adapted the story. Malfoy had been holding the broom, trying out the mounting position Madam Hooch had demonstrated, when all of a sudden he'd risen into the air, and it had taken some time for him to get back down.

Draco started crying a bit, which impressed Harry, who'd never managed pretend tears.

Madam Hooch sighed, rested her head in her palm, and said, "Class dismissed!"

#

#

Walking toward the nursing hall to visit Neville, the Gryffindors were a hotbed of distrust and accusation. At the center of it, Ron and Harry.

"Why did you do that?!" said Ron, still angry, but now angry at Harry.

"Because I don't need to make Draco Malfoy my enemy."

"He stole Neville's remembrall. He tried to break it. He should've gotten into trouble. You didn't even have to do anything."

"No. Because Draco would've said something, his friends would've backed him up, and then Madam Hooch would've asked us. So. We could've sent Draco to detention. He would've disliked it. He would've been bored. Then what? He tries to retaliate. Then we retaliate. Then he retaliates. This continues on, maybe for seven years. That's not how I want to spend the next seven years. So I took this chance to maybe, maybe, nip it in the bud."

Ron said, "But he's evil."

Hermione said, "Draco is eleven. He isn't evil. He's just a jerk. He could grow out of it, or into it. Which would you rather contribute to?"

"Yes," said Harry. "That's everything I meant, and more."

Ron and Seamus said together, "But he's in Slytherin."

"And you're in Gryffindor," said Harry. "That's, it's, is there some rude word for muggle-borns to use against wizard-borns? Because I really want to use one. You don't get it." He waved a hand, pleading time to gather his thoughts.

Hermione said, "You know he deserves it because he's your enemy, and you know he's your enemy because he's in Slytherin. But Draco knows that Neville deserves it because Neville's his enemy, and he knows Neville's his enemy because he's in Gryffindor."

"Yes," said Harry. "I should go everywhere with Hermione, and let her do my talking for me, she's so much better at it."

"He's a bully," said Parvati.

"Sure," said Harry. "I've had to spend a lot of time with bullies," he was thinking mostly of Dudley and his friends. "And I'd rather calm them down than hype them up."

Hermione said, "Sending Draco to detention will only make a him a worse bully. Putting him in our debt might make him less of one. It's worth a shot. If it doesn't work, ah well, we'll have seven years to fight fire with fire. I wouldn't have done it, since I wouldn't try to fool a teacher, but it made sense."

#

#

At the end of the second week, Professor Quirrel took them out to the Dagarary courts, a Dagarary court being just two circles of radius facing each other from across a distance-in this case, the distance was 20 feet. The class was once more doubled-up with Slytherin, and the Gryffindors took three of the six courts, the Slytherins the other three.

Harry was paired up first with Neville.

They both cast Dagarary Contentius, which would stop them from using any non-Dagarary moves till they'd cast Dagarary Finitum, then took the starting stance, which was with your dueling hand dangling at your side, tip of the wand pointing at the starting point. Once both wands were pointed properly, the court beeped, and Harry had flashed Neville three times before the other boy had gotten his wand pointed in the right direction.

"You only have to flash him once," said Shelby, and the two boys took their places at the end of the lines, Neville quickly returning to his natural skin tone rather than the bright glowing red Harry had turned him.

Neville's line had four people, and Harry's three, so that each time you went through the line, you'd face a different person.

Tucker was next. Harry got him on the first try too, though Tucker got his wand most of the way out first.

On the third time through Lavender Brown deflected his first flash, but turned red under his second.

He tried a counter the next time, his red flash missing Ben Nan's green, which turned Harry green an instant later, but that was his only loss till the TA called for it to be King of the Hill. If you won, you stayed, though after you'd won three times you went to the back of the line.

They ran through that three times, and Harry won seven of eight, losing to Tucker in the middle. He began to feel a bit giddy. He'd been nothing special so far at spells, but this... The spells were very simple. After you'd cast Dagarary Contentius, the actual moves were the simplest, most natural spells they'd learned. Speed and recognition were what was important, and he had that. It was a lot like Exploding Snap, really.

Professor Quirrel's tremulous voice came from the sky, telling them that anyone who'd won three in a row should move toward 0, and anyone who hadn't won twice in a row should move toward infinity.

Harry, who'd started at the outermost Gryffindor court, court 3, moved to court 2.

Harry paired off against Ron, who'd either won two in a row on court two or failed to do so on court 1.

Ron deflected his first flash, deflected his second, managed his own flash, but Harry, seeing that it would go well wide, didn't deflect but simply flashed Ron.

Three wins, back of the line, two wins, a loss, and a win and a loss. A 6-2 record and he moved to court 1, glancing at the Slytherins on court -1, but more concerned with the other Gryffindors on court 1. Hermione had started there, and hadn't moved up, having no place to go.

He won his first two, then faced Hermione, feeling nervous.

Beep, and he struck first, she deflected, an overly broad parry, he struck again, she tried to counter, mistimed, his own flash was off and she managed to parry but slowly, he flashed again, she deflected, but it was weak and rushed and his flash broke through it. Hermione, bright red, went to the back of his line.

They went through five times. Two wins and a loss, two wins and a loss, three wins, two wins and a loss, three wins, and a loss. 12-4, with none of the losses coming to Hermione. He thought he might have gone 15-0 if he'd been as serious against the others as against her. Though maybe not.

"Potter," said Quirrel. "Malfoy. Move to court 0.

Harry faced the white-haired boy as all the students from both houses watched. "First to three," said Quirrel.

Beep.

An instant, and both had been flashed. "Draw," said Quirrel. "Replay the point."

The second time Draco's flash turned into a deflection, and Harry's own deflection was placed wrong.

"1-0 Draco."

A quick exchange which ended when Draco stepped aside to avoid Harry's flash, then flashed Harry.

"2-0. Draco."

Draco was a little confident, a little careless, a little slow, and Harry got him off the draw.

"2-1 Draco."

Draco looked angry, and a little ridiculous with the bright green glow, and Harry figured there wouldn't be any more carelessness.

The fourth one was the longest. Flash, deflect, flash, deflect, double flashed, both dodged, coming to the edges of their circles, Harry flashing three times straight, Draco extinguishing each time, Harry needing an instant to reset, Draco starting his own flash, then desperately switching to deflect as Harry pause proved but a feint, and Draco's hurried red deflection broke under Harry's blue flash.

"2-2," said Professor Quirrel. Draco, overly confident a moment before, seemed shaken, and stepped outside the circle, taking a moment.

Draco stepped back into the circle.

Beep.

And it looked to Harry like Draco's wand was starting to move an instant before the beep...

Beep-beep.

Quirrel said, "Early start, Draco, if it happens again there'll be a penalty."

He nodded, and bowed. "My apologies. I'm a little tense." But Harry wondered if that was really it.

Beep.

Draco was first on the attack, but fairly. Harry blocked, deflected, blocked, and saw his chance. His blue flash went straight through Draco's red, a perfect counter, and Draco was flashed.

"3-2, Potter wins."

Harry stepped forward to shake hands with Draco. Draco, still blue, stepped forward, said, softly, "son of a mudblood," and stalked back to his housemates without shaking hands.

Harry smiled, and accepted the congratulations of his peers.

"Great," said Ron, "really great." Seamus shook his hand, and Harry looked for Hermione, to see how she was taking not being the best.

She patted his shoulder, as pleased as any of the others. "Well done, Harry."

Harry's smile faded.

Professor Quirrell's voice came from the sky again.

"Dagarary is a useful game, but it's just a game. Playing it is not studying. On the other hand, playing it is not not studying either. Five points for Gryffindor. Class dismissed."

#

#

All through lunch Harry received occasional congratulations from his fellow Gryffindors, even the older ones, less for having won five points than for having beaten the first year Slytherin champion, and there was a lot of talk about how he'd have to practice hard to represent the Gryffindor first-years at year-end games.

He had a piece of pie, and thought about how nice it was to be the best. He'd never been the best at anything halfway meaningful in a group larger than 10. Among the best, yes, occasionally, from to time, but not the best at a single thing, whereas Hermione seemed to be the best at almost everything.

After lunch, Gryffindor went to Herbology, and Harry realized he was the best at something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider checking out my e-book on Amazon. Monstrosity, by JLL (L, J L)


	3. Chapter 3: Plants and Animals

Chapter 3: Plants and Animals

They'd spent the first few classes in the greenhouse, and Professor Sprout finally took them to the forest: the part, she repeatedly said, which was hedged, and safe, and not technically forbidden, though still forbidden to them without supervision.

She told them the names of various trees as they went, some of which Harry was sure were magical, and some mundane, but he couldn't guess which were which, and told them to get looking for black-speckled silver acorns.

It occurred to Harry that the purpose of the class might just be to provide the Professor with some ingredients she needed, but then it occurred to him that she could probably get them more efficiently with magic than with first years.

The had Herbology with Hufflepuff, and most of the students started poking randomly through the undergrowth.

Harry looked for Hermione, saw that she was with Lavender and Parvati, the three of them already moving purposely toward the nearest oak, so decided to look for his own oak tree. Ron, as had become typical, tagged along.

They found an oak tree not far off, and rooted through the undergrowth there, finding lots of acorns, but none of them silver speckled with black.

Harry went back to Professor Sprout. "Is there a particular kind of oak tree that bears silver acorns with black speckles?"  
Sprout raised her voice. "Did everyone hear what Potter just asked?"

Other students turned to look.

"Potter, ask that question again, louder this time."

"Is there a particular kind of oak tree that makes silver acorns with black speckles?!"

Students who had hitherto been looking for acorns under willows, birches and whatever else had been nearest when they'd received their instructions started asking each other what oak trees looked like.

Professor Sprout said, "An oak tree with silver bark. Not grey. Shiny silver. Like jewelry."

Harry figured half the students who'd heard his question didn't hear the answer, because they'd gone haring off looking for an oak tree.

"Can I just turn an acorn silver?"

Professor Sprout smiled. "It may not be silver when you find it, and must be silver when you bring it to me, but you can't turn it silver."

"Excuse me?"

"Transfiguring an acorn is not the answer," said Professor Sprout, raising her voice a little louder.

Harry walked back to Ron.

"Hear all that?" Harry asked Ron.

"Probably a fun puzzle," said Ron. "We should find the silver tree first."

Harry wished he had a broomstick. He could probably find a silver tree easily enough if he turned into an owl and searched from the air, but he'd been told to keep that a secret.

Ron jumped, got his hands around the lower branch of an oak tree, trying to pull himself up. "It's probably shiny, so if we look from a high place we should see it."

A large three-eyed raven fluttered down from higher in the tree, landing on a branch just above that which Ron was trying heave himself up by, and cawed.

"Uh," said Ron, still trying to pull himself up, shoes scrabbling to get purchase enough on the rough bark.

The raven hopped onto Ron's branch, and Ron dropped to the ground as the raven's beak struck the bark where one of Ron's hands had been.

"Bloody hell. The bludger tried to peck me."

"It has a nest or something up there. Something it's protective of. Doesn't want some big animal climbing up."

Ron said, "I'll try a different tree. Maybe."

"Wait." Harry had saved some rolls from lunch, and he took one out. He tocked his tongue at the three-eyed raven, and when it looked over, waved the roll.

It cawed. He tocked his tongue and imagined a silver acorn with black speckles. That did no good, so he imagined a silver oak.

Its third eye focused on his two. For a moment, he saw the world from its perspective, knowing himself for a large and ungainly thing, then it took off from its branch.

Harry leaned against a tree to wait, and Ron said, "What was that?"

Harry shrugged.

After a minute Ron said, "What are we waiting for?"

Harry said, "For the raven to come back. Maybe."

"You think it will?"

Harry shifted his feet, took a sip of water from his bottle, and the raven returned, bearing a silvery twig in its beak.

Harry tossed a chunk of the biscuit into the air. The raven caught it, dropping the twig, and Harry caught that. He bent the twig. "Real silver. Show me."

They set off after the raven, which would flap ahead twenty feet, land on a tree, then take off when they'd caught up.

They came around a rock, and there was the tree, bright silver bark, and not a single leaf, bare as it might be in the depths of winter. Hermione and her friends were already there, and Neville too.

They turned as he and Ron and approached, and Harry tossed the whole of another biscuit in the air. The raven caught it, took off, and Harry said, "How did you all find it?"

Hermione said, "I transfigured a twig into a silver, and used it for dowsing."

He nodded. They hadn't learned that yet, but it was in their charms book. He probably couldn't have done it, but it should've at least occurred to him. "Neville?"  
"I, I, just found it."

"How did you do that with the crow?" said Hermione.

"A raven." He shrugged. "Biscuits work wonders."

There weren't any acorns on the tree. He looked through the twigs and leaves, and found only a few acorns, and they were perfectly normal.

"Found any?"

"No," said Hermione.

"Huh." Harry sat down to think, resting his back against the trunk.

"It doesn't look healthy," said Neville.

"Hmm."

"No leaves," said Neville.

"I suppose."  
"Is it supposed to be silver?" said Neville.

Harry looked to Hermione. "Is it supposed to be silver?"  
"I don't know."  
"I thought you memorized the textbook."  
"Not everything's in our textbook. I think we're supposed to figure this out."

"So you really did memorize our textbook?"

"Let me think."

Harry thought about his options. If one of the animals remembered how the tree had turned silver, that might help.

Neville said, "Pressing an acorn against the bark doesn't do anything."

"It's a good thought though," said Hermione. "I gave it a try. Do you think there's another silver oak tree? Maybe one that's still bearing acorns."

"It did seem like she was suggesting it would be bearing," said Harry. He closed his eyes to think as Ron and Neville messed around. He'd found the tree, but there weren't any acorns. No, there were, but they weren't on it, and they weren't silver. Hadn't Professor Sprout suggested that the acorns might not be silver at the start? If you put all that together... it suggested he ought to eat his last biscuit.

Chewing that over, he returned to the problem. Finding the silver tree was somehow necessary to make the acorns silver. Maybe the tree hadn't always been silver. How had it turned silver? If they could find what had turned the tree silver, they could turn the acorns silver too. Something in the water, maybe.

"Harry," said Ron.

"Leave me alone, I'm thinking."

"Harry, I've got it."

"What?" He opened his eyes. Ron and Neville were both holding black-speckled silver acorns.

"How."

Ron said, "It was simple really. Me and Neville figured it out. Sprout said the the acorns would transform to silver, but we wouldn't transform them, and she said we had to find the tree first, so either the tree would transfigure the acorns, or whatever transfigured the tree would transfigure the acorns. At that point, you might get a little stuck, if not for the other considerations. The Professors coordinate with each other a lot-they've told us that-so, if a spell is needed, it'll be one we've already learned. We haven't learned many. Transfiguring into silver comes to mind immediately, but Professor Sprout pretty much told us that isn't it, so of course, you think of Epoximise. Why would that be helpful, well, if the tree transformed all at once, it wouldn't be, but if you dig down into the roots a little, you see some of the roots farther from the center aren't all silver yet, so the silver is definitely something that spreads.

"In that case, find a twig with a bit of stem attached, and use Epoximise to graft an acorn on. The silver should spread, so me and Neville tried it, and it spread, the girls are doing it now, it doesn't take long, maybe because seeds have a lot of energy."

Harry got up. Ron had beaten him. Ron. The three girls were about ready, and a pair of Hufflepuffs were advancing toward the tree, pointing to what the girls were doing.

Harry pressed the acorn he'd pocketed to a silver stem. "Epoximise."

Ron continued. "Bit of an underwhelming puzzle if you ask me, can't believe the first solution worked, it's the sort anyone can solve pretty quick just by messing around, you don't even have to understand it."

"Mhmm," said Harry. Silver was spreading down from the top of the acorn, where it met the stem.

"But it is the first time we've done this, I bet they take it easy at first, it'll get funner, I'm sure. Neville, where are you going?"

"I wasn't sure if-"

Ron said, "Wait a bit and leave with us, if you want."

Another group came up while Harry waited.

"No fair, it's already almost picked clean."

"That isn't it," said Ron. "Harry, ready?"

He undid Epoximise, and took the acorn.

"Sure."

"Tell us how you did it," said on of the others.

"The tree was bare when we came."

"What?"

"That's a really big hint," said Ron, walking away. "It wouldn't be fair if I gave you more."

"Well done Neville, Ron, for being first to figure it out. Well done all of you. Ron, Neville, if you could explain your reasoning."

Ron explained it, giving much the same speech he'd given Harry, and Sprouted nodded along, seeming quite pleased.

"Excellent. Five points for Gryffindor. I'll use the acorns to create a treatment for the parasite. Let's head back."

Neville seemed to have joined Harry and Ron, which gave Harry an excellent chance to drift back. Normally, ignoring Ron was second nature, but at that moment it was a little hard. He was shuffling along, kicking at the dirt, when Professor Sprout pulled at his sleeve.

His first terrified thought, which hadn't occurred to him in over a week, was that Professor Sprout was a secret Voldemort sympathizer, and she was going to kill him.

"Let's talk a bit."

"Sure." His voice squeaked. She was going to ask about the night Voldemort killed his parents, wasn't she? Whether he remembered anything. Almost everyone got to that eventually.

"Potter, where's the nearest squirrel?"

"Huh? There." He jerked a thumb without looking.

"And of the trees around us, which one is oldest?

"I don't know. Don't you have to count the rings?"

"Where's the nearest spider to you?"

He pointed to the one crawling through his hair.

"The nearest large animal?"

He pointed to her.

"How many birds are in this oak we're passing?"

"...10?"

"11, but close. How did you communicate with the three-eyed raven?"

So it was that. He'd noticed that none of the others could communicate with their pets like he did. "When I look an animal in the eye..." He wasn't sure what to say. He'd never had anyone to describe it to. And she was a Professor, so he shouldn't have to explain it. Though his books didn't say anything about it, so it must be covered in later grades. "A mind is just a bunch of things connected. When you connect two minds, you get a bigger mind."

"Don't mention this to the other students. The Headmaster will be expecting you."

#

#

The Headmaster's office had been a gaggle of odds and ends.

Dumbledore had said, "Charismancy is the most distinct type of legilimency. I wondered before, when you said you could commune with animals. You ought to be trained at it properly. Hour and a half sessions, twice I week I think, scheduled as mutually convenient."

Harry had said, "With Professor Kettleburn, the Magical Beasts professor."

"No," Dumbledore had said. "You'll train with Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys, and one of the greatest Charismancers alive."

#

#

The autumn days being short, it was getting on toward night as Harry approached the high-roofed cottage, feeling slightly apprehensive, and a massive barking dog burst out of the trees, heading straight toward him. Even on all fours, it was nearly as tall as he was.

Harry made eye contact, knelt, braced himself, looked away, and made brief eye-contact again. Dogs didn't like maintaining eye-contact.

The dog ran hard into his chest, knocked Harry over, and licked him all over.

Harry got back to his knees, and motioned for the dog to back off.

The dog stood off a few feet, lowered his shoulders, inviting play, and Harry hopped to the side, which was excitement enough to send the dog running, circling, and as he ran by again. Harry swatted him on the rump and gave chase.

They messed about in the grass for a minute, before Harry put a hand up.

The dog sat.

"Sorry, but I can't be late," said Harry, starting back toward the cottage.

"You ain't late," said a deep, rough voice from the darkness. "Ye've already started."

The mammoth figure of Hagrid came out of the trees, and the dog ran over to him, looking like small to medium dog next to Keeper of the Keys. Harry had seen Hagrid briefly on the first day they'd come to Hogwarts, and a couple more times around the grounds throughout the two weeks, but those brief and distant viewing hadn't quite communicated the full size of the man. Each hand was like another person's chest.

"Dogs are easiest," said Hagrid. "We'll see what you can do. Come on."

The cabin was high-roofed but cozy, the furniture over sized and overstuffed. Hagrid served him tea and biscuits, and they talked about animals.

"Lots of experience with cats, then?"

"Lots of cats around. Birds too. Finches."

"Never liked finches, meself. Too flighty"  
"Yeah, but they were there. I wasn't too upset when the cats ate them. A little."  
"And I see yeh've got a spider. Always loved spiders, but haven't had one in ages. Got in trouble for it once. Can I see yers?"

Phil stepped out of his hair onto Harry's finger, and from Harry's finger onto Hagrid's finger.

"A portia. Not the quickest thinkers but give 'em time and they'll out think critters a thousand times their size."  
Hagrid's eyes met its, and Harry shuddered. A very strange feeling, seeing out 12 pairs of eyes at once.

"Yer connected to it even now, without eye contact. You've had it what, two years?"

"About."

"Magical then, to live that long. Ye ever seen it do anything else?"

"Not really. Phil."

Phil turned, and jumped off Hagrid's finger back into Harry's hair.

"You're a natural Charismancer sure enough. I'll work with you on it, and I'll throw in Occlumency lessons as part of the deal, but not human legilimency. Yer too young fer that. But before you agree to be taught by me, you ougter know I'm not a real wizard. I was a student here once, but they expelled me and snapped my wand. You don't need to know why. But since then I've focused on wandless magics, such as charismancy and occlumency. You've also noticed that I'm rather big. Some people say I'm half-giant. What do ye think of that?"

"I don't care."

"Good to know. You're parents didn't think blood told either, so make of that what you like. Now, ye've already burned through the easy charismancy exercises I had handy, so we'll spend the rest of the session on Occlumency, a rather necessary art for any feller thinking to increase his sensitivity. I'm about to enter your mind, and you'll try to stop me. Clear yer mind, and rather than thinking of nothing, don't think."  
Harry attempted to freeze, like holding a long breath of the mind, not a single thought wandering by.

Harry gasped. There was a horrible feeling like feathers tickling the inside of his head.

Hagrid said, "You have a crush on the TA, Shelby Blank. It's yr first crush, and ye know it's very silly, and ye're hoping it'll end soon."

"Stop that," said Harry.

"I have stopped."

"No you haven't, I still feel you."

"My oh my, to feel my legilimency. at the beginning of the very first lesson."

It stopped.

"Ye're sensitive, but I think ye gather that yer strategy did not work. The goal isn't to turn your mind off, it's too empty it of thought. The mind is still very much there. Point that spider at me again."

"Phil."  
Phil met Hagrid's eyes and...

"Feel my mind, boy? This is not what the mind of a really skilled occlumens feels like. That feels like exactly the normal mind the occlumens wants to present. But this is what ye, a beginner, might make yer initial goal."  
It was like stone. A riverbed dried up. A machine without any power. "Let's go again," said Hagrid.  
An hour later, Harry was almost in tears. Not from pain, there hadn't been any pain or even unkindness, but somehow this giant oaf of a man had learned every secret he held dear.

Hagrid picked up a pink umbrella. "All those secrets of yers that belong to you that now I've got too? Don't worry, I'll get rid of them, except for one I'll keep for reference. How yer Aunt and Uncle treated you?"  
Harry shook his head.

"No, ye think its very embarrassing, don't you? How ye feel when the other students do better than you? No, ye're ashamed of that. And though it's not my place, I oughter say yer resentment toward Hermione will lead ye anywhere but where ye'd like to go. But don't worry, I'll forget that too. And also the mean thoughts ye directed toward me. I know. How about I keep the memory of yer crush on the TA? Oh, don't worry, everyone has a story like that, it's just part of growing up. Trust me. A young woman is oddly flattered if she finds out she's an adolescent boy's first crush, though I guarantee she won't find out from me. Can I keep that one?"  
Harry nodded.

Hagrid raised his pink umbrella to his head and said, "Obliviate."

The umbrella flashed. Hagrid wobbled, then smiled. "This umbrella contains the pieces of my wand. Helps me cast serious spells like Obliviate, and that's a secret of mine I've given ye. By obliviating myself I've lost every memory I got from you except the stuff about Shelby, to use as a reference. I do, however, remember everything I've learned about your skills, and how easily I got yer secrets. Do the exercises like I said, and ye'll do better next time. Class dismissed."

'Yer resentment toward Hermione will lead ye anywhere but where ye'd like to go.'

#

#

A lot had happened in an hour and a half, but as he ate dinner, that was the part Harry kept coming back to.

'Yer resentment toward Hermione will lead ye anywhere but where ye'd like to go.'

The resentment itself was silly. Every time she did better than him, which was usually, he got angry. He'd never felt that way at his old muggle school. Then, he'd never really cared that much about his old muggle school.

Was that just because magic was cooler? Thinking about it, muggle technology was pretty cool, but you didn't have to learn about a light switch to use one, whereas learning Lumos had taken him hours, and he still had room for improvement.

"Ready, Harry?"  
The others were going back to the dormitory to get their astronomy books, but Harry had his in his moleskin. "I'll meet you there."  
He washed his face in the restroom, and, though he'd been explicitly told not to do so, pointed his wand at his mouth, trying a cleaning spell he'd learned only that morning. "Scourgify."

"Ow." He hopped on one foot. That had stung. But the sting quickly faded, and when he smiled at the mirror, his teeth gleamed. "There's got to be something better for that."

He went up the staircase to the astronomy tower.

At his muggle school, there hadn't been any expectations. He'd been just one more student. But now teachers paid special attention to him, even if they tried not to, and the others Gryffindors first-year boys looked to him, and the older Gryffindor students told him to carry the torch in Dagarary, and had chanted, "We got Potter," when he'd been sorted in.

The Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and even Slytherins pointed at him in the hallway.

Everyone expecting him to be great, and there was Hermione, so much better.

Harry was the first student to reach the Astronomy tower, and he sat at the back, in the shadow of a crenelation, drawing his dark cloak about himself against the growing chill.

Hermione, Lavender and Parvati came up next, and sat not far in front of Harry.

"You should do your own homework this time," said Hermione.

"But you'll check it," said Parvati.

"I'll check it, but you have to do it first."

Lavender said, "I don't understand why it matters what way we stir the potion."  
"What do you think would happen if you always stirred in the same direction?"

"That's what I'm asking you."

Hermione said, "And I'm saying you should think about it yourself."

"I have thought about it."

"Not enough."

There was silence, then whispering between Lavender and Parvati, and some giggling.

The other Gryffindor boys arrived, looking around for seating.

Harry had done homework with them, and maybe he'd known the most, but it had been a team effort.

"Anyone see Harry?"

He pulled deeper back into shadow, wondering what they'd say about him if they didn't he could hear.

"He probably isn't here yet."

They talked about the cold, and how they didn't see why they really needed to know about the stars, and complained about Snape, which was fast becoming a favorite pastime of the young Gryffindors.

When class started, Professor Sinistra waved her wand. "Ocular Distare."

The top of the tower became the bottom of a telescope, that, Harry was sure, would've cost millions of muggle pounds, perhaps many millions of muggle pounds. Further, as he understood it, muggle telescopes had trouble with the atmosphere, which was why they sometimes put them in space, but Ocular Distare, done properly, had no difficulties with the atmosphere at all.

Harry stared up into a little point thirty some feet above his head, which, defying all intuition of how vision worked, expanded as if it were right against his eye into a wide angled cone he could look about through.

The tip of the cone was directed at a star, which had been white, tiny and pale, but was now right before his eyes, huge and slightly pink.

They skimmed through the constellation, many stars resolving into giant clusters, before Sinistra moved onto the main topic of the day. A cursory of study of Saturn an overview of those moons which were on the right side to see, then on to Titan, its greatest moon.

Titan had clouds, mountains, and vast seas of liquid methane all shrouded in an orange haze.

Harry had heard older students complaining about astronomy being required when it hardly had anything to do with magic, but he couldn't understand disliking the class. It was like living in a beautiful dream.

Lulled by it, his attention wandered, and he returned thinking of himself and Hermione.

He'd long thought he was special, since he could turn into animals. When he'd gotten the letter, it'd proved that he was special, though had also made him less special in a way, since there were plenty with magic. Then he'd found out he was the Boy-Who-Lived, the center of the world.

Except there was a girl who seemed more special than him, at least in some ways. And she didn't even have some special backstory. Just a muggle-born who liked to read.

Harry whispered, so only he would hear. "I am not the center of the universe, and that's okay."

Harry realized he didn't really believe it.

Professor Sinistra said, "And I expect four pages on Titan's life, including why yeti introduction failed."  
Harry hung at the back as they went down the stairs, just behind Hermione, who was just behind Parvati and Lavender.

"Should we ask Hermione why yeti introduction failed?"

"She probably won't tell us. She'll probably think it's revenge because she thinks we're not smart enough to figure it out ourselves."

"That is not fair," said Hermione. "That's the opposite. If I thought you weren't smart enough, I would just let you copy it."

"Do you hear something?" said Parvati.

"I think it's a bug. A prissy little nightghast that thinks it knows everything and always shows off."

Hermione voice was rough as she said, "If you keep talking like this-"

Lavender said, "You'll stop talking to us? What a disaster. You're a nightmare, Granger, honestly. No wonder no one can stand you."

Harry gripped Lavender Brown by the shoulder, fingers digging in.

She turned, mouth open to say something, and froze when she saw his eyes, which were huge and slit-pupiled, and felt his nails putting holes in her robes.

Harry wasn't, principally angry. It just all felt suddenly too real. Like his heart was on his sleeve, and every passing word scratched it.

His voice, when it at last came out, was a rough rumble, like a lion's roar.

"Thank you for saying that."

Hermione's face, which had already cracked, collapsed.

"If you hadn't said that, I might have, and I would've hated myself."

Henry released Lavender, and she slumped against the wall, breathing hard.

Harry shuddered, and pulled the hood of his cloak deeper over his face. "Hermione, you're incredible. I hope you keep being incredible." He took her arm and led her quickly down the stairs, passing the other students.

Hermione said, "Harry, your eyes."  
"Harry, there you are," said Dean.

"See you later." He kept his face turned toward Hermione and the wall.

Hermione tore her arm from his, and moved to his left, between him and the other students. "Your eyes. Your fingers. Harry, what is going on?"  
"I need to calm down." He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Your teeth," said Hermione.

They hustled down the end of the stairs, and turned off into a dead-ended hall away from the other students. Harry squatted against the wall between two suits of armor, put his head between his knees, and breathed slowly, focusing on the dreamlike images seen through Ocular Distare, a spell that he had to learn yesterday, but wouldn't be able to learn for years.

Hermione said, "I don't know what's going on, but it's a decent distraction."

"Glad to help," said Harry.

"Your voice is getting back to normal."

1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 1, 4, 9, 16, 25. 1, 8, 27, 64, 125. 1, 16, 81... was it 256 next? Then 625. Exponents were just about the last thing he'd ever learned about in muggle school, and locked in cupboard, there sometimes hadn't been much to thik about.

Harry looked up.

"Back to normal," said Hermione. "What was that?"

"I lost control a bit."

"Lost control of what?"

Harry said nothing.

"It was like you were a Werewolf, except you seemed more like a cat, and it's not the full-moon, and you were in control of it, so I guess, when I say it all like that, it doesn't seem like a Werewolf at all." Her words came quickly, like the conversation was a welcome way to not think about what her 'friends' had said.

"The Headmaster implied I should keep it a secret."

"So the Headmaster knows about it?"

He looked away.

"Harry."

"Not 'it' exactly. But he knows there's stuff."  
"You don't have to tell me, but you should talk to the Headmaster. For a moment I thought you were going to hurt Lavender. If you get emotional when you partially transform, you really need to be in control of the partial transformation."

"I wasn't emotional because I transformed a little. I transformed because I was emotional. I didn't like what they said." He'd thought that was clear.

"Oh. Well it's nice to know you care. Though you've got a strange way of showing it."

"Huh?"

"You're a little extreme Harry. First you write me letters, then you ignore me at school, then you flip out and half transform into a tiger when the girls get catty."

A lion, thought Harry. "You were always with them, and I thought they were your friends."  
"I thought so too till I noticed they were only my friends when they wanted help. I also thought we were friends, so getting a wand obviously hasn't made me any better at judging these things."

"I am your friend."

"Really?"

Harry said, "I invited you to the practice room a couple times, and you said no."

"Every time I learned a spell more quickly than you, you got angry. I didn't need you glaring at me in the practice room too."

"It was that obvious?"  
Hermione said, "It must have been; I noticed."

"Okay, being annoyed was my fault, but you could've invited me to do something."  
"Like what?"  
Harry said, "I don't know. Exploding Snap, some game. You could've just sat next to me."

"Maybe you don't realize this, but you're Harry Potter. If I'd sat next to you, to the other girls-"

"Would've gotten catty?" said Harry. "That sucks, but all you're saying is you decided being friends with me wasn't worth the hassle."  
"You're not doing a very good job of comforting me."

"I'm the one who just involuntarily grew long teeth."

"Poor Harry, was it embarrassing? Don't lie by saying that you don't like showing off."  
"You would know about showing off," said Harry.

Her expression turned.

"Not that it's bad to show off. You're the best. You've got a right to."

"Maybe, but I shouldn't do it just to annoy you, then get upset when you're annoyed."  
"Oh," said Harry. "That bit with the feather, waving it around, was that on purpose? That does kind of make me angry."

Hermione smoothed her robes and wiped her eyes, though she hadn't been crying. "You're a colossal jerk, Harry Potter, and I'd be happy to go to the practice room with you."

So they went.

They left right away, because it was two minutes from closing time when they arrived.

But that wasn't the point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got an e-book out on Amazon. Department: books. Title: Monstrosity. Author: JLL. It's good, I promise, and it only costs 99 cents.


	4. Chapter 4: Monsters, Murderers and Chess Lords

Chapter Four: Monsters, Murderers and Chess Lords

Harry's plan for Saturday was to have a long, leisurely breakfast, spend a couple hours in the practice room with Hermione, finish his homework, or at least do enough that he could do the rest Monday morning before it was due, hunt up someone to play dagarary with, and have a nice relaxing evening in preparation for doing nothing whatsoever on Sunday.

But when Harry came down for breakfast, the Great Hall fell silent, then broke into whispering, students gathered in groups around newspapers.

Harry made for the Gryffindor table, Hermione and Ron right behind him, and went to Fred and George, who each had a newspaper.

"Hiya Harry, try not to die," they said.

Fred showed him the newspaper.

SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES! Above a picture of a screaming rictus.

Harry sat down to breakfast, reading the article, Hermione reading it over his shoulder.

Ron said, "Sirius Black betrayed your parents to-"

"I read their biographies, Ron. We've been over this. There's a lot of common knowledge I don't know, and thanks for filling me in so often, but you really don't need to tell me about my parents. I've told you that a couple times, I think."

Hermione said, "Don't do something stupid."

"Of course not."

"I know you're angry."

"I'm not angry."

"What are you then?"

"I don't know. I suppose I oughta be cautious, but that was already the case."

Hermione said, "And?"

Harry said, "And I'm angry."

"You don't think..."

"Probably not, but I guess I'll be talking with Dumbledore pretty soon."

Percy tapped him on the shoulder. "Potter, see the Headmaster after breakfast."

Hermione accompanied him to Dumbledore's office, though he kept telling her she didn't need to.

She said, "You shouldn't be alone right now."

"Hogwarts has lots of security. It's not like Sirius Black is going to come around the corner."

"That's not what I mean."

He was nervous about her doing him a favor when they'd just really made friends with each other earlier in the week. But snapping at her wouldn't help. "Thank you."

They reached the Gargoyle that blocked the way to Dumbledore's office, and without either of them saying anything, the plinth it was on moved out of the way. The started through, and the Gargoyle spoke in a voice like an old radio. "Just the boy."

Harry jumped. He hadn't known it could talk. Perhaps the spear it held wasn't ornamental either.

"I'll wait," said Hermione.

Harry tapped his moleskin bag. "Would you like a book?"

For answer, she pulled a small leather bound book from her pocket. What Makes an Enchantment not a Charm: The Difference in Theory.

Walking up the corridor, Harry heard Hermione ask the Gargoyle where she might sit, but couldn't make out the tinny reply.

The door was half-open, but he knocked.

"Harry. Take a seat."

He settled into the plush leather chair in front of the Headmaster's crowded desk.

"Do you know why you're here?" said Dumbledore.

"Sirius Black escaped Azkaban."

"Tell me what you know."

"The child of an old pureblood, Slytherin family, but he was sorted into Gryffindor, where he made fast friends with James Potter. He was known as brash and talented, and during the war he became my parents' Secret Keeper. He betrayed them to Voldemort. Shortly after Voldemort vanished, another friend of my father, Peter Pettigrew, went hunting for him, and was blown to bits by Black, who was caught, convicted, and put in Azkaban, where he was held till his recent escape. The newspapers don't know when exactly he escaped, or how."

"Concise. Why do you think he's escaped?"

"I imagine he didn't want to be in Azkaban any longer. It sounds unpleasant."

"Flippant, but good. You've read that no one's ever escaped Azkaban before?"

Harry nodded. The Daily Prophet had repeated that whenever there hadn't been anything else to fill the column with.

Dumbledore continued, "How do you think he escaped?"

"I don't know. Maybe a mistake was made."

"Indeed. And the nature of the mistake, or at least one of them, is, even I admit, unnerving. A Ministry Official checked on Sirius, and found him in surprisingly good health, mentally and physically. He made pleasant conversation, and was curious to know how the Chudley Cannons were getting on. So the official, as a nice, humanitarian gesture, which now looks like a grievous mistake, left him his newspaper.

"That newspaper was run the morning after the induction of the new Hogwarts students. A rushed job, with pictures of all the new Hogwarts students, house by house. You were front and center. A week later, he was gone; or, I should say, we became aware of his absence. If any other mistake was made, we haven't found it yet.

"It's as if he was simply waiting around in Azkaban, with nothing better to do, till he was prompted, by your smiling face, to escape a prison which has never before been escaped from. Do you see my concern?"

"I'm surprised you're telling me this."

"Only the bit about the newspaper is at all secret, and the press will find that out within a few days. Still, I'd like you to keep the contents of this conversation between the two of us. And maybe a close friend or two. The Weasley, for example."

Harry said, "I'm not sure he could keep his mouth shut."  
"You might be surprised."

"Telling him wouldn't be much use, I think."

Dumbledore said, "You should confide in someone."

"I don't want to be a bother."

"Harry, as you get older, I think you'll find that one of the surest ways to bother your friends is to push them away."

Harry was silent.

"If you did talk to someone, who would it be?"

"...Hermione Granger."

Dumbledore laughed. "The smart one."

"I'm smart too," said Harry.

"Yes, but she's smarter."

"That's rude. She's better at describing ideas," said Harry.

"Articulating abstract concepts, you mean. And she's more sensible."  
"I'm sensible."

"You're thinking of how you dealt with the remembrall situation?"

Harry's jaw dropped.

"Very little happens in this castle that I don't know about. Deceiving Madam Hooch was a high-risk choice, and, say what you like to justify it, you did it on instinct. I'll agree that you have thus far evinced more evidence of considering your options than the average first year Gryffindor, but that is a very low bar to clear. And you still haven't answered my question. Do you see my concern?"  
"You're afraid he's coming for me," said Harry.

"Do you see my other concern?"  
"I'm not daft enough to go after him. If I was a fourth or fifth year maybe I'd be able to convince myself I could do that, but right now it would be a very bad joke. If I happen to see him, I'll run."

"That's what I wanted to hear. You learned Alarum in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Make sure you can cast it quickly. Don't hesitate to use it, if things seem off, even if you're not sure. Better a false alarm than the alternative. Professor McGonagall tells me you also bought a safety necklace at Diagon Alley. May I see it?"

He took it off. The chain and clasp were both of some jet-black metal. Inside the clasp was a little button of red jade, which you were supposed to press in an emergency. He handed it over. "When I bought it, I didn't realize it's useless without a connection to someone."

Dumbledore said, "If it were useless, Professor McGonagall wouldn't have let you buy it. It automatically detects and alerts security wards. Such as those of Hogwarts. But I can make it more useful." He took from around his own neck a necklace of silver and blue stone. He placed the necklaces together, waved his wand, put his necklace back on, and returned Harry's.

"Your safety necklace now has a direct line to me. Additionally, Shelby Blank will accompany you to and from Hagrid's cabin. Those are the only additional security precautions that you need worry about for now."

"But there are others?" said Harry.

Dumbledore tossed him a necklace with a platinum phoenix at the end. "You are taking lessons in occlumency. Hermione is not. Her mind ought to be protected if you're sharing your secrets with her. This necklace will do little to defend her mind from legilimency, but it will give warning, to her and to me, if legilimency is tried against her. It's already adjusted for her."

"You had it ready," Harry observed.

"Very little happens in this school that I don't know about."

#

#

Harry found Hermione sitting on a velvet cushioned purple bench that stuck out of the wall.

"Well?" she said.

He sat on the bench next to her and filled her in in as quiet a voice as he could, at the end unclenching his fingers to show her the platinum necklace resting on his palm. "I understand if you don't want to hassle yourself. You probably shouldn't."

She took the necklace and put it on. "We should look at a copy of the newspaper Sirius Black saw."

Having spent most of his free time either in the practice room or the Gryffindor dorms, Harry hadn't seen the inside of the library since orientation, when it had blurred together with everything else-moving staircases had taken up most of his mental space at the time.

The library was vast, shelving on the walls reaching from the floor to the high ceilings, ladders reaching up, row upon row of standing bookcases, aisle upon aisle.

Nodding to the librarian as they passed, Hermione led Harry to what he'd thought was the back of the library, but opened into another, vast, book-lined chamber.

Harry tried to count it up in his head. If each shelf, held, say 30 books, and each section had about 15 shelves, and they were hundreds or thousands of sections... "They must have tens of thousands of books in here. Hundreds of thousands even."

"Somewhat over 20 million books, I'm told. The goal is to have a copy of every book Wizarding kind has ever produced, with translations when needed. Plus, there's a muggle section. And there's journals, newspapers, fragments, letters, museum objects, all sorts of other stuff."

"How do you even find anything?"

"There's a very good system of organization, I'm told. I think I'll understand it by my third or fourth year. This way."

Up a flight of stairs, into another cavernous room, this one, like the room at the entrance, with a set of writing tables, a few students at them.

"Oops, wrong turn," said Hermione.

She led him back through the corridor, then down another corridor that was right next to it.

Harry stopped, The previous room had opened far to the left, and this room opened far to the right. They were not, however, the same room.

Harry said, "I'm a little confused about the layout."

Hermione clucked her tongue. "If you'd read Hogwarts: A History, you'd know the library is like your moleskin bag. It's bigger on the inside."

"Oh." He swallowed. It can't, like, suddenly implode, can it?"

"All of Hogwarts, the castle, the lake, the forbidden forest, are inside a single small ravine that muggle shepherds occasionally run sheep through. Diagon Alley is the same. It's all inside a little closed off alley between a few buildings."

Harry said, "So this room we're inside of is an expanded space inside an expanded space which is inside an expanded space, and when I stick my hand inside my moleskin bag I'm sticking it inside an expanded space that's inside all three expanded spaces?"

"I don't get it," said Hermione, "but apparently it's fine. Come on, we're about there."

The newspapers were against the wall, in a set of rotating cases that could be ruffled around like feathers.

"Here's the Daily Prophet," said Hermione. "I sort of missed reading it, so I've come here a couple times."

The Daily Prophet was in some like a major national newspaper, discussing politics, national policy, and foreign affairs. In other ways, it was like a small local paper, talking about the new shop opening on Thistle Street, who had died of old age, and what was going on at the school.

"This should be it," said Harry, pulling out an edition dated September 2nd.

The cover page was the new Hogwarts inductees. A photo of the new Gryffindors, of the new Slytherins, the new Hufflepuffs, and the new Ravenclaws, text below laying who was from what family and who had been sorted into what house.

Harry was in the center of the Gryffindors, and was, to Harry's surprise, genuinely smiling. Ron was next to him, head tilted to the left, holding his rat still on his shoulder, since his rat had kept trying to escape back into his pocket. Hermione, like most of the girls, was at the back, the first-years being at the age where girls tended taller than boys, her grin so wide Harry thought it must've hurt.

Like all wizard pictures, they moved, a few seconds on constant replay.

So Sirius had seen this, and that had somehow prompted him to do the impossible? There shouldn't be anything horribly surprising about Harry Potter going to Hogwarts.

They read the rest of the paper. There was more about the sorting and the start of the year, including a few inches on Harry, just saying that he had been sorted into Gryffindor after spending a bit longer under the hat than was average, and seemed to be a healthy, serious-minded boy. Then a little family context, reminding readers that James and Lily Potter had both been Gryffindors, and had been Head Boy and Head Girl.

There was a short profile on Professor Quirrell, in which he was asked if he believed in the curse, and Quirrel said he wasn't sure, but if there was a curse he aimed to be the one to break it.

"The curse?" said Harry.

Hermione frowned. "I have no idea," she said, and the paper didn't explain.

There was an article profiling all the TAs, most prominently Shelby Blank, the talented young dagararist, and the article said that, while anyone who cared to know could find out, the Daily Prophet would, as always, honor Hogwarts' request to not mention the former houses of TAs.

Then there was politics, the dramatic events in Korea, and the new charmed jewelry shop in Diagon Alley.

Harry and Hermione read it again, but nothing stuck out as being relevant to Sirius Black, so they went to find Ron.

#

#

"Blimey, you didn't know?" said Ron. "There's been a curse on Defense Against the Dark Arts position for ages. No one can teach it for more than a year."

"But Professor Pratchett has been here for decades," said Harry, referring to the old man who taught Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Exactly. He already had his position before the curse was laid, and these sorts of curses usually only apply to new people. Putting a trap on a door doesn't affect people already in the room."

Hermione said, "Do you understand what you're saying?"

"Not really, but I'd wager the people who told me that did. And it makes sense, right? Dumbledore is supposed to be desperate to weaken the curse before Pratchett retires."

Harry said, "Dumbledore is supposed to be a really great Wizard. Why can't he just break it?"

"Because the curse was set by You-Know-Who. Or at least that's what everyone says. He wanted the position, probably so he could get followers and teach students Dark Arts, this was before he was You-Know-Who, and when Dumbledore wouldn't give him the position...

Harry said, "How do you weaken a curse?"

"If someone managed to teach it for two straight years, the curse would weaken, so it would be easier to survive it next year, and the curse would weaken again, and pretty soon it would be gone. It also should just get weaker over time. That's one reason some people think You-Know-Who is still alive. Everyone says he cast the curse when Dumbledore wouldn't let him be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and the curse should've started getting weaker after he died, but it hasn't."

Hermione nodded. "If a curse prevents people from doing X, managing to do X-"

Harry said, "Go back to the part where You-Know-Who isn't really dead."

"I don't know," said Ron. "That's just what some people say."

The Muggle-born's Guide hadn't mentioned that possibility. For some reason or another, the Killing Curse had rebounded on Voldemort, and anyone who was hit by the Killing Curse died. Ergo, Voldemort was dead. End of story.

Maybe not. He'd have to ask Dumbledore, when he got the chance.

Having spent an hour kicking around whatever ideas they could without telling Ron about Sirius reading a newspaper, Hermione asked Harry what he would've been doing if he hadn't found out that Sirius Black had escaped.

Harry said, "I thought we might go to the practice room. I want to control Lumos better, and I should work on Alarum."

"Let's do that," said Hermione.

"The practice room again?" said Ron.

"You don't have to come," said Harry, hoping Ron would stay.

"I'll come," said Ron.

The practice room was a lot emptier than it had been the Saturday before. Rather than looking for an empty table, they looked for an empty section.

"Enthusiasm runs out," said Ms. Kransterry when Harry asked.

"Mine hasn't. I'd like to practice Alarum. Could you set up a space?"

She pointed to a square that had been drawn on the floor.

When Harry walked into the square, all the other sounds of the room, breathing, talking, students shifting in their seats, vanished. His steps were all he could hear. When he stopped moving, he heard his pulse.

He put a cotton ball in each ear, raised his wand, and said "Alarum."

Nothing happened.

He tried again, and set off the whirring, siren-like racket that was his goal.

His third try was a half step back, producing a quiet whine so high-pitched it hurt.

He kept at it for twenty minutes, till he felt comfortable with it, then took the cotton balls out of his ears and joined Hermione and Ron.

Harry worked on Lumos, Hermione worked on "extras" in the textbook that they were skipping because there wasn't enough time, and Ron talked about some book he'd read which had nothing to do with any of their classes.

"..Six hundred and Ninety years old..." said Ron.

...of course, everyone has a Philosopher's Stone, but only Flamel has made thee Philosopher's Stone...

...this was all back in the days of Medieval France, and they hadn't really worked out expansion charms yet, so...

...I would like to be immortal...

Finally, Harry said, "Ron, if you don't want to practice, why are you here?" said Harry.

"The other boys say I'm annoying."

"Oh." Harry felt bad for asking. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine, I don't mind. I like the idea that I'm the terror of Gryffindor. All tremble as I approach. Plus, they say they like me in small doses. But now a lot of them won't play me at chess."

"If I beat you at chess will you be quiet a little?"

Ron took a small chess board from his bag.

Harry felt a bit of tension over the idea that Ron carried a chessboard with him wherever he went, but told himself there was no way he'd lose to Ron.

"It's a little different from muggle chess. You can-"

"I know."

"suborn pieces. Capture them so that they're on your side. You have to-"  
"I know. Let's start."

Eight moves later...

Harry said, "That was just a practice game. I've never played with these rules before. I didn't think suborning would be so important." Not when it was so hard to suborn, and easier to reclaim a piece that had been suborned. "Let's go again."

Nine moves later...

"I'm getting the hang of it. Again."  
Six moves in, and it wasn't going well.

Hermione said, "Maybe if you move the bishop there."

Five moves later...

Hermione put her book away. "Let me try."

9 moves later...

"Let's do it together," said Harry, as a Hermione put the pieces back in their starting positions.

A TA said, "The practice room is for practicing."  
"Just a minute," said Harry. "We'll be done soon."

Three moves...

"Move the rook up."  
"But then the queen."

"If the queen goes over, the knight gets suborned.

"He'll take the knight back real quick, and we'll almost be in check. Let's castle."

"I don't think castling is as good in this game."

"Why wouldn't it be? Everything's next to something else. They literally can't be suborned."

"Let's ask the pieces."

Harry tapped their remaining knight. "Hey. What do you think? Should we castle?"  
"You can't win," said the knight. He's the Dread Lord, the scourge of Gryffindor. All we can hope is that the war be short."

"Alright, let's castle."

It seemed like a good idea even afterward, but it didn't matter.

"Play again?" said Ron.

Three games later, Hermione turned back to her wand practice. "It's pointless, Harry."  
"But-"

"It's pointless."

With a sigh of indignation, Harry returned to making Lumos brighter, then dimmer, and Ron joined him at it.

As the weeks went by Harry and Hermione's haunting of the practice room became increasingly lonely. At times, it was empty but for them. Harry mastered all the spells they were taught, and some that were skipped, while Hermione mastered all the spells that were taught, all that were skipped, and some that weren't in their textbooks at all. Then she attempted some of them wandless or wordless, to no result. Then she read books.

Sometimes Ron came, and sometimes he practiced.

Harry went to his twice weekly sessions with Hagrid. When Hermione asked where he went every Tuesday and Thursday from 4:15 to 5:45, he said it was private, she didn't pry.

It was disheartening that, hard as he tried, the gap between he and her only seemed to widen, but comforting that, in the wand-based classes at least, a gap between he and the others appeared.

He dragged her out as often as he could to play dagarary, since he wasn't second best at that.

Finally, Halloween came.

Halloween being what it was, Harry wasn't much in the mood to attend that party, though he kept telling Hermione that he thought he was being silly, since he didn't even remember his parents.

"It's not silly," said Hermione, shouldering a knapsack filled with food. "I wouldn't feel like feasting either."

"You at least should go," said Harry. "The ghosts are going to do a dance, and the Performance Club is doing a light show. I know you want to see it."  
"Come on," said Hermione, leading down the hall.

The library and practice room were both closing for the party, and there'd likely be students going in and out of the dorm, who'd invite them to come back to the feast, so Harry and Hermione went to the set of indoor dagarary courts in the dungeon, which hardly ever got used except when the weather was bad.

They sat on a bench, eating the dinner Hermione had packed, and when they'd finished, rather than playing dagarary as planned, they talked about nothing till Harry said, "Do you smell something?"  
"The cheese is a bit-"

It's like very old socks and a public toilet that never gets cleaned." His nostrils flared.

"Like I said, the cheese. It tastes good, but the smell..."  
"It's not the cheese."

Hermione sniffed. "I think I do smell it. Maybe a pipe burst?"

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Harry said, "Do you hear that?"

"Footsteps? Coming from the entrance to the lower dungeon?"

"Sounds forceful for just footsteps. Like something very large." He took a step closer to the entrance to the lower dungeon, and shouted into the darkness, "Hagrid, is that you?"  
Thump. Thump. Thump.

"Harry, let's get out of here."

He hesitated, but the smell was getting worse. "Let's watch from the top of the stairs anyway." He walked back toward Hermione.

Her eyes went wide, and she screamed.

As Harry turned to look, Hermione grabbed his hand and ran for the stairs.

Looking over his shoulder as they ran, Harry finally saw it. Taller than even than Hagrid, green-grey in color, large ears like bat wings sticking almost comically off its squint-eyed head. He would've recognized it from muggle stories even if had hadn't seen pictures in his History book. A troll.

It took two vast strides, and Harry and Hermione swerved away from the stairs to avoid being stepped on.

They ran to the far wall, the troll staring up the stairs, trying to decide, perhaps, whether it would fit.

Harry stopped a sigh of relief from coming out, afraid it might attract the attention of the troll, which hadn't seemed to notice them. They were rather low to the ground from its perspective, after all.

Hermione put a finger over her mouth to suggest silence, and Harry, nodding, struggled with the clasp on his safety necklace.

It sniffed at the air like a dog, sniffed as they had a minute ago, and turned toward Hermione and Harry.

He saw the moment it recognized their presence, and Harry met its eyes, and tried his best Charismancy, telling it they were uninteresting, unappetizing, and it should go back into the cool, comfortable dark it had come from.

The troll's war-cry drowned out Hermione's Alarum spell.

Harry finally got the button on his safety necklace pushed.

Hermione shouted from behind Harry, "Lumos!" and the dungeon was bright as outside at noon. The troll screamed again, shutting its eyes, and in the flash, Harry disappeared.

Where Harry had been, a lion was. Juvenile, a lightning bolt scar on his forehead, with just the faint, scraggly beginnings of a mane, yet as a big as a fully grown lion, his teeth, when he snarled, shining as if they were made of something harder than mere bone.

As the troll cautiously reopened its eyes, the lion roared.

The roar shook the walls. The roar made Hermione clap her arms over her ears before realizing that somehow, the sound didn't hurt. It was heard all through Hogwarts, and outside Hogwarts, louder than Alarum. In his cabin, Hagrid stood up, and birds took flight at the edge of the forbidden forest.

The troll took a single step back.

The lion roared again, and for a moment thought the troll would run.

But it swung its club, bellowing its own battle-cry, and the lion dodged inside the swing of its club.

Hermione shouted, "Incendiare," and a little burn mark appeared on its brow, just missing an eye.

A trolls skin could blunt well-forged steal, so a lion's claws had no chance of penetrating.

The lion's claws tore a long, deep gash in its leg, and the troll screamed.

"Incendiare," yelled Hermione, again just missing the right eye.

The troll's stomp missed the lion entirely. He was already jumping onto the troll's back, all four sets of claws tearing rents, jaws closing around the back of its neck.

The lion leapt off, and in the air, the troll's arm struck him, smashing him into the wall. His ribs ached, but he shot back to his feet, roared again, and as he roared, Hermione shouted "Incendiare."

The spell fly wild, but brightened, expanded, larger than the previous attempts, as if the roar were a fierce wind behind it, striking the underside of the troll's jaw. The air filled with an acrid scent, the flesh burning to the bone, the damage much deeper, and much wider than what Hermione had managed before.

The lion spoke in the same deep voice that had come out of Harry at the top of the Astronomy Tower. "Hermione, I'll draw it over, you go up the stairs, then I'll follow."

"Slomnium," said a voice.

The troll's eyes rolled back, and it crashed to the ground. A moment later, despite all its wounds, it began to snore.

Dumbledore stood in the hall, flanked by Shelby and Professor Pratchett, the Advanced Defense teacher.

The lion growled at the sleeping troll, a half-throated roar that rumbled through the castle like deep bass.

Shelby and Professor Pratchett pointed their wands at it.

The lion transformed.

"Shelby's mouth dropped. "Harry? What? How?"

He shrugged. "I'm a lion animagus. I figured I'd have a lot better chance that way rather than trying to fight a troll with Wingardium Leviosa."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "I advised Potter to keep that talent secret, for obvious reasons. I trust you'll do the same."

"But," said Shelby, "A lion couldn't-"  
Dumbledore said, "Don't ask. Don't even wonder. We ran down here and saved two first-years from a troll that got in somehow or another. That's all."

"Potter! Potter!" A voice coming down the stairs, resolving into a very out of breath Quirinus Quirrell, who put his hands on his knees when he saw Harry. "Oh thank Merlin," he said between breaths. "I thought it was just a distraction, so I was going to the third, but when I realized you'd activated your safety necklace..."  
"The third?" said Harry.

Dumbledore's voice was sharp. "Compose yourself, Professor Quirrell."

"Don't worry Headmaster, Snape and a couple of others were going-"

Dumbledore's volume rose. "You are in front of students."

"Oh, right." Quirrell mopped his brow.

"Quirrell, go let the others know that it's alright now, but I'd like more Professors in the dungeon. Pratchett, you're in charge of the troll, direct Shelby as you'd like. When you've got enough reinforcements, investigate, carefully, how the troll got in. And you, Harry." Dumbledore sighed. "Let's talk. Hermione-"

"Can come with me," said Harry.

#

#

Harry and Hermione sat in twin seats before the Headmaster's desk, drinking hot cocoa and telling their short story.

At the end, Harry asked, "How did the troll get in?"

Dumbledore said, "At the moment, I don't know. When I do know, I probably won't tell you."

"That's not fair," said Harry.

"It's not. But I'm one-hundred and thirty-seven years old, and if you were too, I'd be more forthcoming. Alas, you're eleven."

"I'm twelve," said Hermione.

"You're twelve?" said Harry, who'd turned eleven recently enough he sometimes forgot he wasn't ten anymore.

"As of September 19th."

"Twelve is closer," said Dumbledore, "but not near. Now, as to the topic of transformation abilities..." He cast a glance at Hermione.

Harry turned into an owl and back.

"A double animagus," Hermione breathed. "Isn't that..."

"It's exceptionally rare," said Dumbledore. "Further, unlike most animagi, he's not turning into the muggle version. As an owl, you flew through the shadow gates. Wasn't too unusual though, all owls are at least a little magical. But now I find you can become a Nemean lion, which is to a muggle lion as a basilisk is to a cobra."

Harry nodded, feeling warm. "I can also partially transform." His ears turned to cat ears, his canines extended, his eyes slit, his nose extended a little and sprouted fur. His voice rumbled. "Not ornamental. I can see in the dark like this, and see and hear better." He held up hand, fingernails turned to claws. "I can cut rock with these, if I like."

Dumbledore sat back. "Embodiment," he murmured.

Harry shifted back to normal. "I'm not very good at it, it's different and harder, but I can change my looks in normal ways." He closed his eyes, concentrated, and his bangs grew. A lock of hair grew red. His nose hooked. Then he put it all back how it had been.

"Metamorphmagery," said Dumbledore. "I'll arrange a tutor.

Harry smiled, enjoying the looks. "Pretty cool, right?"

Hermione said to Dumbledore, "Do you know how his parents did it?"

"Huh?" said Harry.

Hermione said, "Harry, think your father specialized in transformation research, and your mother specialized in magical heredity research. Now you have rare, even unique transformation abilities. That's not a coincidence."

Harry's mind rummaged in a moment through everything he knew about his parents' careers.

His father had studied not only how wizards transformed, but also how a wizard might willfully embody certain of the animal's aspects even when not transformed, and had taken a deeply unusual, often controversial interest in what he'd considered to be the mirror image of an animagus, a wizard afflicted with the werewolf curse, which had led him to invent the Wolfsbane potion with his collaborator, Damocles.

His mother's study of heredity had focused on the interplay between what muggles called biology and the abstract objects that determined magical heredity, trying to alter or select traits to prevent curses from passing down, or to prevent a child from being born a squib, her greatest triumphs being cures for the Blood Wasting curse and the Fireborn curse. As a sideline, she'd written a few treatises that convincingly argued that interbreeding with muggle-borns did nothing to decrease magical purity, which hadn't endeared her to the Death Eaters.

Harry said, "My parents experimented on me?"

"Your parents were bringing you into a violent world torn by war. I assumed they were working to equip you to survive in that world, but I thought selecting for talent and ensuring you were an animagus was as far as they went. It seems they went further. It is even possible, though I consider it unlikely, that the work they put into you is why you survived Voldemort's curse."

Harry stared at his lap, at once grateful to his parents for 'putting so much work in,' and upset that they'd used their own child as a lab rat. Then realized that what he was really upset about was that a moment ago he'd been very proud of his abilities, and had been happy to have to show them off, but now it felt like they didn't really belong to him.

Dumbledore said, "If it's any comfort, Harry, I'd wager they did most or all of it well before you were born."

Hermione said, "If James Potter was in the habit of turning people he cared about into animagi, does that mean Sirius Black is an animagus, and that's why he was able to escape Azkaban?"

Dumbledore said, "Azkaban has housed a great many animagi."

Hermione said, "Is Lord Voldemort dead?"  
"They are no publicly available facts that suggest otherwise, but my opinion is probably not, and if you look you'll find that that opinion is publicly known."

Hermione said, "Is Sirius Black's escape connected to Voldemort's return?"

"Possibly."

"On the first day, you very ostentatiously warned us to avoid a room on the Third Floor. Just now, Quirrel said something about the 'Third', which is, I assume, the third floor. You could've cut him off a lot more quickly. Did you really let that hint slip by accident?"  
"An old wizard can be expected to let very few hints drop by accident."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"It's a 'what do you think, Miss Granger?'"

"Is any of this connected to the break-in at Gringotts a few weeks ago?"

"What?" said Harry.

Hermione said, "It was in the Daily Prophet."  
Dumbledore's mouth quirked. "Everything in the universe is connected, my dear."

"Is the Gringotts break-in a few weeks ago connected to anything we've discussed today by a particularly short causal chain?"

"Possibly."

"Is the troll in the dungeons today connected to Voldemort, Sirius Black, The Third Floor mystery, or the break-in at Gringotts? By a particularly short causal chain?"

"It's probably connected to at least one of them, though it could also be a random sympathizer trying to kill Harry, an unconnected plot that the two of you had the bad luck to be swept in, or even a completely random event, though how a troll would randomly get into Hogwarts is hard to say. And I notice you say Voldemort, not You-Know-Who."

Hermione said, "Is that a question?"  
"Why do you say Voldemort, rather than You-Know-Who like any sensible girl would?"

"Because my best friend, who I am beating at every subject but broomstick riding, vanquished him before he could walk without leaning against a wall. And because the old man I'm talking to is supposed to be the only person he was ever frightened of. I'll use 'You-Know-Who' in other company."

The Gryffindor dorm broke into pandemonium when Harry and Hermione came in, each student wanting to be personally told the same story about how they'd been in the dagarary court in the dungeon, and the troll had come up, and it'd been scary, then Dumbledore had come and put it to sleep with a single spell.

"What about the sounds we heard?" said an older Gryffindor girl whose name Harry couldn't quite remember.

"I dunno what you heard. But the troll was really loud, and I kept messing up Alarum."

Ron said, "Why were you even down there instead of at the feast?"  
Fred whispered in Ron's ear, and Ron said, loudly, "Oh yeah, it's the anniversary of when You-Know-Who killed his parents."

Harry fought his way eventually to bed, and Hedwig settled in with him. Stroking her feathers, he fell into thought.

He'd clung to his gifts as proof that he was in some ways better than Hermione, but now it seemed those gifts really had been given to him. But wasn't that true for everyone, that your talents came from your parents? This was the same. Wasn't it?

Why had he even survived Voldemort's curse anyway? What was on the Third Floor? Was Sirius Black really going to come try to kill him? Had Sirius Black let the troll in? If so, Sirius Black had snuck into Hogwarts. Why not just kill Harry himself?

Despite his exhaustion, his mind churned on, chewing over the day that was, that days that had been, and the days that might have been, getting sadder and sadder, flat out depressed. His parents had probably had him just as something to experiment on. Hermione would always be better than him. He was a horribly insincere little boy, lying with ease, and the Dursleys had been right to keep him in the cupboard. He should throw himself out a window, and be done with it.

He got out of bed, and padded to the window.

Cloaked black shapes were gliding around the foot of the castle's wall, visible by the light of the large, waning moon.

Harry watched them, feeling worse and worse with each passing second. Finally, he went to Ron's bed and shook the redhead's shoulder.

Ron jerked, screamed softly, and swung a palm, hitting Harry's chest. Panting, he opened his eyes. "Sorry Harry. I was having a nightmare."

"It's fine. Look at something with me." He pulled Ron out of bed.

"Harry, it's cold."

"You're in pajamas. Come on." He dragged Ron to the window, and the two of them stared out the window at the shapes like giant crows.

Ron began to tremble.

Harry said, "What are those?"

"Dementors," said Ron.

:::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I assure you, I'm not planning something quite as simple as a straight simultaneous re-write of books 1 and 3.
> 
> Thanks for reading this far. Perhaps consider checking out a book I self-published. Monstrosity, by JLL, available on Amazon kindle. 'Vampires and werewolves and witches, oh my.' It's fun, I promise. Review it, and I'll love you forever. (Getting reviewed bumps you up in the algorithms. Also, I love reviews. Including fanfic reviews.)
> 
> Later


	5. Lupin and a Hanging Cat

Chapter 5: Lupin, and a Hanging Cat

Having spent most of the night waking up from nightmares about the troll, Harry came to breakfast baggy-eyed and thinking of strong tea. He saw a troll at the edge of the Great Hall, jumped back, a scream rising up, then realized it was just a suit of armor, seen from the corner of his eye.

Hermione said, "I've done that three times already."

Sitting down, Harry noticed four new faces at the high table, seated next to Dumbledore.

Two men, one, an older, greatly scarred man with an eyepatch over his left eye, next to him a light-brown haired man who looked somewhere in his early thirties, though it was hard to tell with wizards, but gaunt-cheeked, wearing not robes, but a tweed suit.

And two women, both middle-aged, but otherwise entirely different. One red-haired, plump, and matronly, deep dimples in her cheeks, and the other tall, dark-haired, stern and slender as a knife.

"Oh no," said Ron, staring in horror at the red-haired woman, face pale as a sheet.

"What is it?" said Harry.

Ron buried his head in his hands. "It's worse than the dementors," said Ron wouldn't say anything else.

He raised an eyebrow at Hermione, who shrugged. The Great Hall was filled with whispering, students craning their heads to look at the four additions, but only Fred, George, and Percy had stricken looks not dissimilar to Ron's.

"The Weasleys know something." said Hermione.

Before they could drag it out of Ron, Dumbledore stood up, and the whispering cut short.

The old wizard's voice filled the room. "Now that you have all arrived, I have some announcements. For some time, The Ministry had been considering sending dementors onto the grounds of Hogwarts. I have not been an advocate of the option. In light of recent events, the Ministry has pushed forward with it. The dementors are now here, stationed at the entrances to the grounds."

The Hall broke into a hubbub that only ended when a great POP! and a sizzle of sparks came out of Dumbledore's wand.

A single voice continued on. "...I'll just stand right there, not afraid at all, and tell them-"

Dumbledore cut in. "It's good to know you're so reliable, Dennis Alwood."

The Ravenclaw boy's mouth shut.

Dumbledore continued, "But I have no intention of allowing any contact between them and the students of Hogwarts. Last night, some of them came quite near the castle walls." Dumbledore's voice hardened. "That won't happen again. To assist in this and other matters, I've asked a few old friends to join us at Hogwarts, and on very short notice, they've agreed. First, Alastor Moody."

Whispers rose once more as the scarred man rose and surveyed the students, and Harry realized that the 'eyepatch' was a large, bright-blue eye held in a metal loop. He gathered from the whispers that the man was famous even before Dumbledore recited a few of his accomplishments as an Auror, concluding, "Though retired from fieldwork these past few years, Alastor has continued to work as a consultant at the Auror Office, duties which he has graciously set aside to assist us here. Thank you, Alastor."

The applause as Moody sat was subdued by nerves.

"Next, Enchantress and noted duelist Emmeline Vance, who served honorably as a militia member during the war."

The dark-haired woman rose, bowed to the chamber, then sat.

"Remus Lupin, dagararist, free-lance charmer and potioneer, former militia member, and former Gryffindor House prefect." The younger man rose, bowed as well, and said something to the red-haired women as he sat.

Harry stared. Remus Lupin was a name he'd read any number of times in his father's biography.  
"And finally Molly Weasley, former dagararist, circuit duelist, and militia member."

The whispering for the red-haired woman's rise was louder than it had been even for Alastor Moody, and grew louder still when she waved at the Gryffindor table, where all four Weasley boys were trying to burrow into their chairs, Fred going so far as to stick his head under the table.

"Just a dream," muttered Ron. "It's just a bad dream."  
Harry began to laugh, loud and high-pitched, a little deeper as a bit of lion came uncalled to the fore.

He shut his mouth when Dumbledore called for silence again, but the laughter kept on shaking his shoulders and squeezing out through his nose.

"All four are skilled with the Patronus Charm, and in practical dueling. Mind them as you would mind Professors. Further..." Dumbledore waved his wand, and a large bar of wrapped chocolate appeared in front of each student, startling Harry's laughter away.

Dumbledore said, "This is not for snacking. Keep it with you at all times, and eat it if you encounter dementors. If any of you do happen to lose your chocolate bar, or, perhaps, eat it by accident," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, "you may get another. Defense classes at all grades will have appropriately leveled units on dementors."

Students, depending on their grades, looked to either Quirrel or Pratchett.

"But in all grades, the key instruction for dealing with dementors will be simply to avoid them. They are not here for us. They are here to guard the entrances, so do not leave the school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks, disguises, or invisibility cloaks, and they do not understand pleading or excuses Give them no reason harm you. If you do, somehow, encounter one, eat your chocolate, and back away slowly. And I see I have frightened you all much too much.

"It is the long held opinion of the Ministry that dementors are, like fire, useful, if properly controlled, which the Ministry has great experience at. There would be very little danger even if it were not for the precautions we are undertaking. As for why the Ministry has dispatched them...

"The Ministry itself is not commenting on that, so I will not comment either, except to say that the reason is known to me, and is, as you'd expect, grave. The papers will have their own surmises, which you may trust as far as you like."

That concluded Dumbledore's speech, the food appeared, and before long students were poring over early editions of The Daily Prophet, which said the dementors were at Hogwarts to catch Sirius Black. The troll that had somehow gotten into Hogwarts was likely his work. It was believed that he'd gotten hold of a wand. One article thought the Ministry was doing too much, one thought it wasn't doing enough, one thought it was doing the wrong stuff, and one thought it was a perfect choice, so all the options were covered.

Or that's what Hermione said. Harry paid minimal attention. He was staring at the High Table.

Finally, Harry stood.

Hermione said, "Where are you going?"

He pointed to Remus Lupin. "I'm going to talk to that man."

Hermione said, "He's at the High Table."

"He's not a professor though."

"I still don't think you should bother him at the High Table." That was taboo.

"He knew my parents."

"Lots of people knew your parents. Hagrid. Most of the faculty. You haven't asked any of them."

"But Lupin really knew them. Not in passing. Not as two more in a long line of students." He stared at Lupin, seeing the faint cut on a cheek, the flecks of premature grey amid the light brown hair, a stray end of pale thread poking out of a seam.

"Harry," said Hermione, "Hoot, hoot," and she touched the lids of her eyes.

Harry sat like a marionette that had had its strings cut, blinking his eyes, then rubbing the corners like they itched.

He faced Hermione, opened his eyes wide, and she nodded slightly.

Still unnerved, breathing a little heavily, Harry said, "I'll talk to him later. They'll be here a while."

#

#

Classes passed in a rush, Harry hurrying through homework between periods, his plan to do some of it the night before having been scuttled by the troll, and all the while people whose names he couldn't recall asked him about the troll, and he lied about having hidden in the corner till Dumbledore showed up.

It wasn't till after dinner, in the common room, that he and Hermione were able to corner Ron, sitting on the plush rug before one of the fires in the Gryffindor common room.

"Your mother was a dagararist?" said Harry.

Ron looked uncomfortable. "It wasn't any big deal. She talks about it a lot, but she was only maybe tenth or twelfth in Britain, which sounds great till you remember the Dagarary circuit is international, so being 10th or so in Britain has you down pretty far. About the same for Lupin, though he'd be ranked higher if he didn't have the shakes."

Lupin was the subject Harry was interested in. "The shakes?"

"Hereditary curse. Skips through generations. Sometimes it's fine, but sometimes it acts up. Even with it you can still do easy magic, but dagarary? At a high level?"

Harry said, "Then why be a dagararist?"

"Because," said a wry male voice, "it attacks my weakness."

Remus Lupin sat in one of the overstuffed chairs by the hearth, crossed one leg over the other, said, "Hello," and looked into the fire.

Harry and Hermione stared at each other.

As the man seemed to feel no further need to speak, Hermione asked the question that was on the mind of every Gryffindor in the common room, all staring at Lupin. "Why are you here? I'm sorry, that came off impolite. But it's usually only ever students."

Rather than answering, Lupin said, "What's your name?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Ah, the muggle-born girl. I hear you have a deft hand at charms." From his breast pocket he took a pencil, like what every muggle child had, wood, yellow paint, a soft pink eraser at the end. "Float it for me."

"But we're not in the practice room," said Hermione.

"I'm more than qualified to supervise. Think of me as between a Professor and a TA."

Hermione drew her wand. "Wingardium Levioso," she whispered, and the pencil rose off Lupin's hand.

"Good. Raise it."

The pencil rose to the ceiling."

"Lower it."

It lowered to just above Lupin's lap.

"Make it do a circuit around my head."

Harry could've done the first two, but making the pencil go in a smooth circle...

Lupin said, "Good. Now, through the fire, quickly, so it doesn't burn, and back above my hand."

That's what Hermione did, though the pencil got caught on the grate for a moment coming out.

"Slightly singed," said Lupin, examining it. "Now, break it."

"We haven't learned that," said Hermione.

"Yes you have. Use the same spell. Just pull on different parts of the pencil, instead of all of it."

Hermione said, "Down on one end, up on the other?" But that just made it twirl.

Lupin said, "Think of how you normally break something, with your hands."

"Down on both ends?" frowned Hermione.

"No," said Ron. "One way on both ends, the other way in the middle."

Lupin said, "You're Ron Weasley? Your mother told me about you."

Ron looked down.

"She was looking for you earlier, but I told her that her sons might not like talking to their mother at school. At least, not in front of others."  
The pencil wobbled in the air, and after a minute, Hermione said, "I can't manage it."

Lupin nodded, and the pencil snapped.

"But you're not even holding your wand," said Hermione.

Lupin blinked at her. "Sometime in your seventh year, your Professors will have you take a stab at wandless magic. They'll have you try simple spells that first-years learn. Now, can you fix the pencil."

"With Reparo?"

"Yes."

Hermione said, "I've seen it in the textbook, but we haven't learned that one yet."

"You don't think you can manage it on the first try?"

Hermione shook her head.

Lupin extended a finger, and the halves of the pencil snapped back together with no sign there had ever been a break. Then the pencil floated back into Lupin's breast pocket.

"You're not even using incantations," said Hermione.

Lupin said, "Unlike wandless magic, wordless magic is actually a real part of the curriculum. It'll be a significant portion of your grades in your sixth and seventh years. Don't be so impressed. Most of your professors can do what I just did; you never see it because they're modeling the basics to first-years."

Lupin continued speaking, loudly, but as if only to himself. "A tad underwhelming after how her Professors bragged. 'Better than Lily Potter,' they said. Well. I suppose it is only November 1st."

Hermione's jaw clenched, and her cheeks burned.

"You might think about whether what just offended you really ought to be offensive." He turned to Harry, who had been soaking at all in, eyes wide, wearing a stupid grin.

Lupin said, "And you I'd recognize on the street. You look so like James it hurts. But a good sort of hurt."

That was exactly the lead in Harry was looking for, but as he opened his mouth to ask about his parents, Lupin stood up.

"Where might I find a Mr. Percy Weasley? I must speak with him about my sleeping arrangements. I'm not sure where I'll bedding down, but wherever it is, it'll be distractingly nostalgic."

Hermione absorbed this. "Are there full wizards sleeping in the other three dormitories?"

"No," said Lupin. "Just Gryffindor."

#

#

"I can't find Scabbers," said Ron, as the boys got ready for bed.

"He's been missing a lot lately," said Harry, looking under his bed, and seeing only a dust bunny and some socks. "He must've found some secret place to sleep." Though privately, whenever Ron couldn't find Scabbers, Harry worried that the old rat had died, and they'd find out when there was a bad smell.

The door opened, and Lupin and Percy came in, Lupin in night clothes, carrying a briefcase and wand, a doll-house-sized bed suspended in the air above it, fit to fit in a palm. They looked around a bit, then Lupin zoomed tiny bed into a corner.

"Give us space," said Percy, and after the boys had, the tiny bed expanded into one long, full-size, bigger than the boys'.

"You're sleeping here?" said Seamus.

"Was that transfiguration?" said Harry.

Lupin said, "If it were transfiguration, what kind would it be?"

Harry had to think back to his reading of his Introduction to Magical Theory book-they hadn't done anything half so dramatic in class. "It's hard to make something bigger and have it stay that way, so I'll bet you got a bed from storage, shrunk it, and now you've returned it to full size."

"Very good," said Lupin, sitting on the bed. "Percy, I'll take it from here."

Percy left, but rather than taking it from there, Lupin lay back on the bed, pointed his wand at the ceiling, and lights began to play across it, blues, greens, oranges, purples, golds and reds, like a kaleidoscope, but curvier, and not often symmetrical.

At moments, familiar shapes seemed to resolve, trees, castles, cars, animals, but the forms were lost an instant later.

The boys watched, mystified as to what to do, slightly afraid to bother him, till finally Ron said, "I'm looking for my rat, Scabbers. He's grey, he's fat, missing a finger on his front foot. I can show you a picture."

Without looking away from his light show, Lupin said, "I could bring Scabbers here with Accio if you like, but it's a little risky to use Accio on a living thing when you don't know where it is. Suppose his head were resting in a wire loop. Bringing him here might strangle him."

"I'll wait then," said Ron, quietly. "He'll turn up."

Lupin continued with his picture making, until Harry couldn't stand it anymore, and he said, "You were one of my father's best friends."

On the ceiling, three boys appeared. One looked very like Harry, a second must've been young Lupin, and the third was a slightly plump boy who looked a little like Neville. "James, Peter and I. We were always together." A fourth face appeared, a dark haired boy, not recognizable at all as the deranged murderer from the newspapers. "And the fourth, Sirius. I say the fourth, but if any one of us was more your father's best friend than the other two, it was Sirius. He's your godfather, you know?"

"I read that."

"James and Sirius were the ring leaders, dragging Peter and I into trouble: good honest trouble, mostly, the sort of pranks that punctuate the days. Sneaking into the other dorms and setting their quieters backward." On the ceiling, James, Sirius and Lupin in an empty dorm with Ravenclaw colors, tapping the quieters with their wands while Peter kept watch. "Charming the chairs in the library so you had to ask their permission to get up." Again, the four of them, older, laughing into their hands as vague forms struggled. "Then we'd all turn around and get top marks. Except Peter's marks were usually just okay."

Ron said, "You sound like my brothers, Fred and George."

There was a smile in Lupin's voice. "Filch pointed them out to me. Said I wasn't to give them any ideas."

"My father," said Harry.

"Once we were making a very difficult potion. We'd been at it forever, messing up, fixing the problem, messing up a different way, fixing that, learning as we went. It was finally almost done, just needing to simmer, we were tired, frustrated, relieved, and Peter tripped over his own feet, knocking the cauldron off the table." As Lupin spoke, the light illustrated, showing the potion spilling across the floor. "James picked up the cauldron while Peter covered his face with his hands, apologizing and apologizing. And all James said was, 'The second time, we'll know what we're doing.'

"Your father was kind, generous, charming, hardworking, at least at what interested him. He'd treat life like a game, then at the tensest moments, you'd find he knew what a serious game it was."

"Then why was he friends with Sirius Black?"

"Because They were very similar. Sirius was a good young man. Don't scoff. When I found out he'd betrayed your parents, I couldn't believe it at first. There's a small part of me that still doubts. But the Sirius I knew, though he had great virtues, also had considerable flaws. And I've never met the Wizard whose flaws weren't, if he let them, up to the task of devouring him."

"What flaws?"

"That's enough for now," said Lupin. The lights went out. "The day started early for me. I'm going to sleep."

#

#

Defense Against the Dark Arts was Harry's favorite class, except for maybe broomstick riding, but his sleep having been troubled once more with nightmares about the troll, he didn't love the idea of a double period with Slytherin.

Quirrell started it with a long, depressing discourse on dementors. They should keep their distance and keep chocolate handy. If approached, they should make no sudden movements, but use Alarum or Periculum to call for help, and it might help to think of a thought not so much happy as beautiful, and cling to it very hard.

Seamus said, "But what actually works against dementors?"

Quirrell frowned. "Certain occlumental techniques can help, as can animal transformation, but Expecto Patronus is the primary charm. It's quite advanced, and even many excellent witches and wizards are unable to clear the mental hurdles. They tend to use wind charms or fiendfyre as poor substitutes."

"Why don't we learn that, then?" said Seamus.

Quirrell's voice was dry. "If I endeavored to teach first years fiendfyre, I would not just be fired, but possibly jailed. Not as if any of you would learn it anyway."

Seamus said, "I meant Expecto Patronus."

"You couldn't learn it."

"Still."

Quirrell sighed. "All of you, close your eyes. Yes, you too, Draco. Now everyone who wants to continue with the lesson as planned, raise your hands."

A moment passed. "Put your hands down. Now, everyone who wants to waste an hour bashing your heads against a brick wall, by which I mean, trying to learn the Patronus charm, raise your hands."

Harry raised his hand.

"Very well. Hands down. Eyes open. Beating one's head against the wall is instructive in its way. And who knows, perhaps there's a genius in our midst. Luckily, I was planning to have my third-years take a stab at it, not that it'll do them any good, so I have the materials handy.

On the board, a diagram of the wand movements appeared, which weren't too bad.

Then the forces diagram appeared, and the whole class gasped. The force diagrams Harry was used to where one to three lines long, smaller than the wand movements diagram, but this was what, 30 or 40 lines? He couldn't even read it.

Quirrell chuckled. "Getting an idea of how high the ceiling is? Let's take a look." He pointed his wand at one of the lines, and began to explain.

Ten minutes later, Harry thought he had a vague understanding of the general structure, but that only made it more intimidating.

Quirrell said, "Here's the part that stops even many great Witches and Wizards. You see this stem? As you cast the charm, you must root it in a single purely, powerfully, and wholesomely happy memory. Mere triumph or satisfaction of ego won't do. Now, watch carefully-I'll only do this once."

Quirrell closed his eyes. His shoulders slumped, his knees bent slightly, every muscle in the man's body relaxing, still for so long that Harry wondered if something had done wrong.

The man's eyes flashed open, wand raised. "Expecto Patronum." A burst of silver flew from his wand, and solidified into a great jackrabbit that raced around the room, then settled at Quirrell's feet and scratched its ears.

Quirrell flicked his wand, and it disappeared. "Now get cracking. Shelby, Robert, can you perform the charm?"

"More or less," said Shelby.

"Non-corporal," said Robert.

"Then treat this as your own practice as well."

Half an hour later, Harry felt like sitting down and resting his head on his desk. The forces were way too complicated, and that didn't even get to the happy memory. He had no idea what to use. When he'd gotten the Hogwarts letter? The first day at the Great Hall? A couple years ago, when the Dursley's had gone on a trip and he'd had the run of the house for a week?

He looked at Hermione, looked at the forces, diagram, watched Hermione try the spell again, looked at the forces diagram... "It's scary how close you're getting."

"I'm a long way off," she said.

"Yeah, but you've got like twenty of them."

"How can you tell?"

"I'm watching you do it," said Harry, brow furrowed. "I mean, can't you just, when someone's trying a spell..."  
"A little," she said.

Harry returned to his own efforts. It was impossible for now, sure, but if he kept at it over the course of the year, half an hour here and there in the practice room, gradually adding in more of the forces, he might be able to do it by the end of the year. Maybe. Possibly. Right?

Beside him, Hermione squealed. A silver cloud had come out of her wand. All the students stopped what they were doing to watch the silver cloud billow, Hermione jumping up and down in excitement.

Quirrell's voice was almost a yell. "Well done Miss Granger, well done indeed!" He whistled. "It's only the incorporeal form of the Patronus, which isn't half so useful as the corporal, but I'll have to go back quite far indeed to find the last time a first-year managed so much. Decades, I'm sure. And it's barely November, I'll see what doubting Mr. Lupin has to say about this." Quirrell drew himself up, took a deep breath, still smiling widely. "Now, dispel it."

Hermione did.

"Cast it again."

"Expecto Patronum," she said, but her wand made only a few sparks.

"Focus, Miss Granger. Don't be distracted by your triumph. Use the same memory as before."

Again, the silvery cloud.

Quirrell said, "The incorporeal form won't drive dementors away, but it can keep them at bay for a while." Chimes rang. "We're out of time. Take 15 minutes break, then I'll see you all on the dagarary courts."

The class filed out, Gryffindors congratulating Hermione, even Lavender saying "good job" as she hurried by, the Slytherins more or less ignoring her.

Hermione arched a brow at Harry.

"Have you been practicing that in the mirror?"

"Yes," she said, and arched her other brow.

Harry said, "I'm happy for you. A little jealous, yes, and I'd be happier if I thought I was just a couple hours of practice behind, but it's either accept it or be spiteful." He was more than a little jealous, and had the fixings to be at least a little spiteful, but the happiness for Hermione really was there too, and that's what counted, wasn't it?

Anyway, they were about to have dagarary, and he was better at that.

#

#

"Faster, Potter!"

Harry did it faster.

"Faster. Faster still. Faster, faster, faster, and stop missing! Denser too! Don't stop!"

Harry was being yelled by a small stone bust of the head of Prilla Bliss, a famous old dagararist. It drifted through a swath of air 39 feet away, and he was supposed to hit it. Over twice the 19 feet they'd played at before, but a 19 foot court was called a bib, and this was a short court, which was longer.

He missed three straight times.

"Stop! Why did you miss? Was it fun?"  
"No."

"Then don't miss!"

He had to make the flash fast, so the bust couldn't get out of the way before his flash got to it, and his aim had to be right in the first place for that to even matter, and he had to do it all at a high rate, or the bust would really yell.

"Slightly better," shouted the bust, stone mouth twisting. "You might flash an inattentive child, if the child was also deaf, blind, and paralyzed. Faster flash. Higher rate. Miss less. When you tense, your thumb changes the angle of your wand. Don't tense."

Harry began to sweat. It was the effort of casting the spell over and over, the effort of concentration, of standing in the sun, shifting on his feet, but mostly the strain of keeping his arm up. His wrist had begun to tremble, and every shot go wide, when Shelby appeared at his side.

"Take a break."

"But..." He didn't want to take a break. "It'll yell at me."

"It won't yell at anyone who isn't in the circle."

"But the others... Oh." Half the students were taking a break. Hermione, who was at the circle next to his, was sitting cross-legged by it, watching he and Shelby talk.

Hermione said, "We've still got history, and homework for charms, but no wands for the day. Knock yourself out."

Shelby said, "You should rally with someone."

"You?"

"I don't have the patience. Malfoy!"  
The white haired boy, who was on the second row of courts, not far from Harry, looked up.

Shelby said, "You're hitting the bust enough. Pair with Potter."

Shelby pushed him toward the Slytherin courts, and Harry, resigning himself to it, corrected his posture as he passed through the Slytherins.

Malfoy put the bust that had been yelling at him in its box. "First to what?"

"We'll go till we stop,"

"First to eleven, must win by 2," said Malfoy.

"Whatever."

Both pointed their wands down. The classes hadn't played a lot of dagarary since that first day, and hardly any of it in double-classes with Slytherin and Gryffindors, so this was only the second they'd played each other.

Having won the first time, and having spent hour after hour in the practice room, improving his general magical abilities if not his dagarary skills, Harry felt confident of winning again.

The court beeped, and he got Malfoy off the draw.

Harry said, "You look good in green."

The green faded, they pointed their wands down, and Malfoy was quick enough to dodge Harry's flash. Harry was quick enough to put up a blue lock to stop Malfoy's red attack, but he didn't position quite right, and Malfoy got him.

1-1.

Then 1-2, Malfoy leading. 1-3, Malfoy leading. 2-3, Malfoy leading . 2-4. 2-5, and Harry raised a hand to request a moment, and stepped outside the circle. He was beating Malfoy at rate, and tying him at power, but losing badly at aim and speed, not to mention Malfoy seemed a lot more fluent at changing the colors.

Malfoy said, "You've got quick hands, Potter, but that's it. While you've been wasting time in the common room, I've been sweating on the practice courts."

Harry wanted to protest that he'd been spending his time in the practice room, but he only stepped back in the circle, and pointed his wand at the court.

Beep, and 3-5. 3-6, 3-7.

5-10, 6-10, he imagined a miraculous come back, 6-11, Malfoy's win, if indeed they were playing first to 11, which hadn't objected to.

"Again, Potter?" said Malfoy.

7-11, and, as he got reckless and hurried, 4-11 for the third set.

Harry went through his other classes in a huff, and getting angrier and angrier, remembering Malfoy's smirk, trying to work out the hours to practice dagarary more. Was that worth his grade dropping in other classes? It wasn't fair. He was spending three hours a week in private Occlumency and Charismancy tutoring. No one else was doing that. It was impressive, actually, but no one knew about it, except Hermione, and sure, Hermione was doing better than him in every class but broomstick riding, but broomstick riding counted, and he could transform, and do charismancy, all sorts of stuff.

"Did your owl die?"

Mr. Lupin had come up behind him.

Heart in his throat, Harry said, "Is something the matter with Hedgwig?!"

"It's an expression," said Lupin. "I'm asking why you look upset."

"I'm not upset."

"Then you should ask Madam Pomfrey to take a look at your face. Something in the connection between your nerves and your facial muscles isn't right. Shelby, there you are."

The TA waved, and as Harry headed for her, Lupin did too.

Harry said, "Are you both-"

Lupin said, "Two as escort now."

Harry said, "You don't think it's a bit much?"

"No."

Harry trailed a few feet behind them, scuffing his feet on the dirt, wondering absently when the first real snow would come, once again unsure whether he liked Lupin or not.

Hagrid had set four sets of tea and biscuits out, which was less interesting to Harry than the small blue dragon in a cage in the corner, puffs of smoke coming up from its nose.

"Is that legal?" said Shelby.

"No. That's why I took 'em off the feller's hands. Some experts will be by in a few days to take him away, but in the meantime, he makes fer good training. Dragons're tough. Make eye contact, but from a distance, like."

He looked into its eyes, and it shrieked, and shot a foot long jet of flame through the bars of the cage.

Hagrid frowned, and took a long look at Harry. Just a moment of eye contact...

Hagrid grunted at Lupin and Shelby, and touched his ears.

Once they had put on the pink earmuffs that cut off sound, Hagrid sat Harry down and said, "What crawled up yer butt an' died?"

It was easy to tell Hagrid; the man had already learned all of Harry's secrets, even if he'd blasted most of them back out of his own head.

When Harry had finished, Hagrid said, "It's not bad to be competitive. It's not even bad to hate losing, but it is bad to let it turn into anger at those who beat yeh."

"I know," said Harry, though if he'd been asked a moment before whether it was bad to hate losing, he would've said yes. "I thought I was over this."

Hagrid smiled. "Weekly epiphanies, like acne and pubic hair, are just part o' growing up. They don't mean anything till yeh change yer habits of thought, which takes more 'an a day or ten. Want my advice? Keep working hard, but yeh don't have to act like a stodgy old man ter learn-never known anyone better than yer daddy at making a game o' learning. Live a little. Have fun. Stop basing yer sense of who yeh are on whether or no ye're living up ter the expections ye're afraid others have of yeh."

It was the first time Harry had ever been preached at by an adult, and he didn't know what to do other than meekly say thank you.

"If ye're calmed down a little, let's get back to that dragon. Put these on, then let it get a sniff of you."

He tossed Harry a thick leather apron, thick leather gloves, and large glass goggles. Then a muggle welding mask.

"How can I make eye-contact with the mask?" said Harry.

"Be patient." Hagrid got the dragon out of its cage. It stared at Harry, looking like it might pounce, then fell over and burped a puff of smoke.

"Cute, ain't he," said Hagrid. "Named 'im Norbert."

"Cute," said Harry.

He let it crawl over him, like a curious cat, trying to sneak its nose past his apron, which Harry wouldn't allow. He stroked it behind the head, found the spot that was just right, and it collapsed on his lap, letting out a soft little whine like a teakettle on low.

"Now yeh can take the mask off."

Harry set the welding mask on the floor, made eye-contact, and felt the little beast's perception of the procedure. As far as it was concerned, the creature in the welding mask had disappeared and been replaced by another, but that was alright, because this one smelled the same and was scratching it in the right place.

And no worries, it could eat either if it felt like it.

"It's crazy," he said.

"No. Just dumb as a doornail, convinced of its invincibility, an' highly aggressive. Not unlike some wizards I've known. Search its memories. Try an' figer out what it had fer breakfast."

"Chopped meat and a whole rabbit? That's over its own bodyweight."  
"Also like some wizards I've known," said Hagrid. "Now see if yeh can't egg it into flying round the room."

Thirty minutes later, Harry was drained, and Hagrid was putting it back into its cage.

Even though it wanted to be out more, it lay quiescient in Hagrid's arms, and Harry got one more flash of insight about its mind.

"It thinks you're a dragon."  
Hagrid laughed. "It tried ter fight me, an' I knocked it down, so what else could I be? Anythin' stronger an' it is an older dragon." He locked the cage.

Getting up, Harry noticed Lupin and Shelby were facing on of the few bare spots on the wall. Lupin's wand. laid on a side table, was like a projector, playing a movie of sorts, with subtitles. Harry had a wild suspicion that if he took a closer look, he'd find it was a muggle movie.

Lupin's hand, gripping the the arm of his chair, was shaking slightly.

Hagrid said, "Now, occlumency. Pretend yeh didn't mind losing to Malfoy. Pretend yeh like 'im."

It didn't go well, but it didn't quite go badly. Head aching, he made his goodbyes to Hagrid, and Lupin and Shelby walked him back to the castle proper in time for dinner, where he met up with Hermione and Ron.

Ron said, "Where were you anyway?"  
"Huh?" said Harry.

"Leave it alone," said Hermione.

"So Hermione gets to know, but I don't?"

That was exactly how it was, but Hermione said, "Harry has a right to his privacy."

"You two are always leaving me out of everything."

"Not everything," said Harry. He looked around. No one was particularly close to them, and the hall was loud, but he motioned for them to move their heads in close.  
"Let's cause some trouble," said Harry.

"Yessss." said Ron.

"What?" said Hermione.

He explained what Lupin had said about his father's pranks.

"We shouldn't do anything like that," said Hermione.

Ron said, "We should do the one he said about people having to ask the chairs' permission to get up."

"We're not advanced enough to do that," said Harry.

Ron said, "We could stick firecracker's in people's food."  
Hermione said, "Ron, that's crazy. You shouldn't do any pranks, but if you do, it should be a harmless prank that's almost fun and cool for the other students. Right?"  
"Right," said Harry.

Hermione said, "If you did do a prank, and you shouldn't, you could, for example, go into one of the classrooms while it's empty, and Epoxify the chair legs so they're stuck to the floor, and then when class was supposed to start, all the students would just be standing in front of their desks, trying to sort out the problem."

"That's good," said Harry. "Gluing things is a little overdone, but we could do that one."

"I won't help," said Hermione. "I'm not involved at all."  
Harry said, "We could also transform-"  
Hermione interrupted him. "Charms are one thing, but you shouldn't do any transfiguration without supervision. It's dangerous."

"I suppose..." said Harry. "We could cast softening charms on the serving forks, so when people tried to serve themselves, it didn't work. But we'd have to get at the serving forks beforehand."

"Oooh, I like that," said Hermione. "I was trying to think of something with kleinbottles, but I couldn't quite work out how. Let's do that one. The fork softening." She paused. "I mean, you shouldn't do any pranks, but if you did do any pranks, that one would be the best, maybe, of the ones you've talked about so far."

Harry said, "Do you want to come?"

"Of course not," said Hermione. "Do you think we'd get in very much trouble if we were caught?"

"You get a warning the first time you're caught doing magic without supervision, and none of us have been caught at it yet-well, the troll, but we weren't in trouble-plus, everyone knows we're under a lot of stress, so I bet we'd get off with one or two detentions at worst."

#

#

When dinner was over, the three of them lingered within view of the doors to the kitchens, watching the hall candles slowly dim, Hermione repeatedly claiming that she was only coming along to make sure nothing bad happened, and no, of course she wouldn't be lookout, but perhaps she'd pretend to read a book by the door and loudly greet any teachers she saw. That wasn't against any rules.

The light under the door went out.

Harry started for it, but Ron said, "Wait. It's mostly house elves that work in the kitchen, and they see in the dark. I can just imagine them dousing the lights before they're ready to leave."

As if to prove Ron's point, a slight clatter came from the kitchen doors.

"Where do they sleep anyway," said Hermione. "It's not in Hogwarts: A History. "  
Ron shrugged. "Probably just in a few rooms. They like to live communally, like mice."

The hallway being clear, they snuck over to the doors, trying to lean casually against the wall as if they were just chatting. "Ron, do me a favor and look away."

"Why?"

"It's a secret." Ron was just about to protest when Harry said, "Hermione, you too."

They both turned away, Hermione pushing Ron's shoulder slightly, and Harry's ears grew, long, large, furry, leonine.

He heard the three of them breathing, a bit of tiny popping and cracking as cooling objects contracted.

The ears pulled back in. "Ron, let's go."

The door opened smoothly, without a creak, and once it had closed behind them, Ron said, "Lumos," and the tip of his wand lit.

"Put that out. We'll use as little light as possible."

"It's pitch black in here."

"Just put it out."

"Nox," said Ron, and the kitchen returned to a darkness so intense Ron could barely see his hand in front of his face.

"Just hold onto my robe," said Harry, and moved confidently through the kitchen, checking drawers as he went."

"How can you see?"

"I've got good night vision." He had an owl's eyes. "Anyway, these are them." He pulled the drawer all the way out, and set it on the floor behind the counter, the two boys squatting around it. "Light, please," Harry said, returning his eyes to normal.

Ron used lumos again, and smiled at the silver serving forks.

Harry took one out, which had some ornate etchings on the end. "Spongify," he whipered, and the twines near the end softened to something like wet noodles.

"It has to last at least 10 hours," said Harry.

"Of course," said Ron, needing three tries to manage his own fork, but getting through his second and third in one try each.

From outside, Hermione hissed, "Clatter less."

"Yes," Harry whispered.

"Don't talk back," Hermione whispered, more loudly.

Harry rolled his eyes and got on with it, he and Ron chortling as they worked, imagining their fellow students staring wide-eyed at the silverware that had betrayed them.

They put the serving forks back, went to the door, and Harry hissed, "Clear?"

"Clear," said Hermione.

The three of them walked quickly down the dim halls, giggling now and then, though Hermione was a bit subdued.

"I didn't get to do anything," said Hermione. "No one even came. Let's do the chairs one."

"Tonight?" said Harry.

"Why not. There's still time till lights out, if we hurry."

"Snape's classroom," said Ron.

They were on their way to it, Harry just starting to wonder whether the portaits might bear witness, and maybe they should cover their heads and faces, when he heard a soft, sibilant voice.

"Who's saying that?" said Harry.

"Saying what?" said Ron.

"Just listen."

"...rip... tear... kill..."

"That," said Harry.

"I still don't hear anything," said Ron. Hermione shook her head.

"Saying it's hungy. Kill, kill, time to kill? You really don't hear it?"

"No."

"It is quiet. Come on, it's going that way."  
He broke into a trot, following the sounds. "So long... so hungry... kill..."

Hermione said, "Harry, wait!"

He sped up, running, taking the stairs up after it, scared, but also laughing.  
Hermione said, "Harry-"

"Shhh."

"A voice only you can hear. What if it's Black, luring you somewhere?"

Harry skidded to a halt. What had he been thinking? Not much, clearly. Just excited, treating a mysterious voice talking about killing with all the same seriousness as he'd reserved for turning forks soft. He took a breath. "Let's go back to the dorm. We'll do chairs some other time." The dormitory would be warm and safe, and they'd have time there to decide whether to mention this to anyone.

Harry and Hermione started back, but turned as Ron pointed to a shape within the shadows.

Mrs. Norris, Mr. Filch's cat, stiff as a board, hanging by her tail from a torch bracket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :::
> 
> I'm afraid this chapter was a lot of talking and not a lot of doing, but the next chapter should have some more doing to make up for it.
> 
> Reviews make my heart go pitter-patter, and make my fingers go "tap-tap" at the keyboard. It is to me a very new and wonderful experience to get feedback from people I've never met.
> 
> Now on to the part that makes me feel bad, but, as my Grandma always said, "Those who don't pimp themselves won't ever be pimped at all." Go to Amazon, select books as the department, type in "Monstrosity" and select the one by JLL. (L, J L) Read the free sample. If you're interested, buy it, read it, rate it, and review it. It's only a buck. Amazon wouldn't let me make it any cheaper. It's about a talented teenage witch who has to prevent Vampires from stealing the Amber Heart even as she has to prevent her own clan from being too Machiavellian in its machinations. I'm lying, sort of. You'll see what I mean if you read it.
> 
> May the odds be ever in your favor.


	6. Harry Potter and the Polymagus Chapter 6: Early Snow

Chapter 6: Early Snow

The question of whether to use the necklace to call for Dumbledore or to find a teacher was made moot by the arrival of Argus Filch, clucking his tongue and calling for Mrs. Norris.

Mr. Filch said, "Students by the dungeons with 20 minutes till curfew? Get to bed. I'll give you a pile of detention slips if you're out a moment past curfew."

Ron pointed.

Filch raised his lantern, saw Mrs. Norris hanging by her tail from the torch bracket, and rounded on the students. "You killed her! You killed her! You killed her!"  
Harry had never known what to do about insensible anger other than wait quietly and try not to break into a nervous smile.

"You're grinning, you did it, I'll kill you!"

Harry reached under his robes, flicked the cap to his necklace open, and pressed the button that alerted Dumbledore. "It wasn't us, sir. We found her like this. And are you sure she's dead? She might just be petrified."

"You petrified my cat and hung her by her tail?"

"We're first years. We don't even know how to petrify." He glanced at Hermione, who shook her head minutely.

Filch's spittle hit their faces as he jabbed his index finger into Harry's chest. "And what are first-years doing here where they have no business being, well after classes?"

"Argus."

Dumbledore appeared in the hall, large red phoenix on his shoulder, Professor Snape and Snape's TAs in tow. The old wizard took one look, spotted the cat, and with a wave of his wand, brought it down from the torch bracket.

"Argus. Snape. Aitches. Mr. Weasley. Come."

As they began walking, Harry stayed where he was, wondering who Aitches was and why Dumbledore wanted Ron but not him.

Hermione grabbed his elbow and pulled him along. "We're Aitches. Hermione and Harry."

Harry decided to hear it from then on as 'Hs.'

They went into Snape's office, which was full of vials and beakers. A small purple head bobbed in a jar of orange fluid.

Dumbledore laid Mrs. Norris on the table and examined her minutely, touching, putting his ear her stomach, opening an eye-lid.

As he closed the door, Snape said, "What were you doing in the dungeons so near curfew?"

Hermione said, "We wanted to talk privately, and you know how it is. When you're walking and talking you keep walking till you're done talking. Then Harry heard something. We followed it, but we didn't see anything. We were just talking about going to our dorms when Ron saw Mrs. Norris."

"You heard something?" said Snape.

Harry said, "I'd like to talk about it in private with Dumbledore."  
"Is it such a great secret that I can't hear it, Potter? Too serious for a mere Potions Master to handle?"

Harry glanced at Filch. "I'll let Dumbledore decide."

Dumbledore turned to Mr. Filch. His voice was soft as he said, "It was dark magic, unusual and advanced. There's no chance the kids did it. I'm sorry Argus. It seems to have been quick."

The old man sobbed, producing a gasping sound, snot running from his nose.

Harry said, "You can just get a new cat, can't you?"

Hermione stomped on his foot, and Dumbledore said, "That's a detention, Mr. Potter."

"What did I-"

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. He looked at Ron, who shook his head, and mouthed 'Apologize.'

"Sorry Mr. Filch. I shouldn't have said that."

The caretaker kept crying, and Harry thought he hadn't been heard either time.

Phil, who'd been sleeping, ran to the end of Harry's hairline, looked at the cat through a couple stalks of hair, and began chittering and running about. All Harry could tell was that Phil was afraid of being eaten, which wasn't unusual; 90% of Phil's communications were about wanting to eat something or being afraid of being eaten by something.

Filch got to his feet, asked if he could take away Mrs. Norris, was asked to wait till Professor Trewalney had had a look, nodded, and, tears and snot still coming liberally, stumbled out the room.

Dumbledore said, "About that voice, Harry."

"It was breathy, echoey, cold. Medium pitch, I can't say whether it was man or woman. It was quiet, but not so quiet the others shouldn't have been able to hear it. It wasn't making sentences. Just, 'So hungry, kill. Rip. So long.'" To Harry's ears, what he had to say next sounded crazy even in his head, but the cat was dead, after all. "Ron and Hermione couldn't hear it. It was quiet, but not that quiet. We chased it-it sounded like it was moving-but then Hermione said that a voice only I could hear might be Sirius Black drawing me into a trap. If he's gotten into the castle. So we were going to go back, but then Ron saw the cat, and Filch came."

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged a long look. Dumbledore said, "Where were you when you first heard it?"

"The second dungeon."

Hermione said, "Between the lavatory and the geologic cutout."  
"Near my classroom," said Snape.

"Not far from it," agreed Harry.

The Potions Professor gave him a long, slow glare that seemed to suggest a belief that wherever Harry might be, he couldn't be there for a good reason, and Professor Trewalney burst in.

She wore a scarf around her head, and a massive glasses that reminded Harry of the hubcaps on a car, moved immediately to Mrs. Norris, sighed, and said, "Spit a hairball, saw the Grimm in it, figured I'd best get to you, Headmaster."

"You spit a hairball?" said Ron, fascinated.

"Oh, seers do all sorts honey." She stroked the cat. "Still warm."

Dumbledore said, "Aitches, Mr. Weasley, wait just outside the door. I've called for Remus-he should be here momentarily to pick you up."

With that, they were booted out, the door firmly shut, Dumbledore's phoenix exiting with them and perching on a candelabra and fixing them with its gaze.

Harry put his ear to the door and heard only his pulse. The office doors, he guessed, had charms for privacy.

Harry grew the ears of a lion, Hermione clapped a hand over Ron's mouth as he started to say something, and Harry heard only faint, muffled, indecipherable sounds from within.

Hermione, holding her wand in her other hand, handed him a glass cup. He nodded, placed it rim down on the door, changed lion ears to owl ears, and heard Trewalney.

"She'd been moved. From higher in the castle. The one who moved her... was frightened and confused, yet wore gloves for secrecy." Had that voice really been a person? He'd had the idea somehow that it wasn't. "I see two yellow lights." Her voice shuddered. "There is power in them. I can't make them out; I hesitate to try. Beyond that, I see only the brightness of life."

Hurried steps coming down the hall. Harry jerked his head, away, pocketed the glass, returned his ears to normal, whispered "later" at Ron, who was staring at him with large eyes, Mr. Lupin jogged down the corridor.

They greeted him, and he tapped on the door, opened it a crack and said, "I'll take them back if there's nothing further."

Lupin's hands were shaking more than before, so much like a breaking muggle machine that Harry half expected a high-pitched hum.

"Do," said Dumbledore.

On the way to the Gryffindor dorms, they told him about the cat, and Hermione asked if it could have been Sirius Black.

Lupin said, "It's hard to imagine him getting inside."  
Ron said, "Harder than a troll getting inside? Last I saw the newspapers still said the school didn't have a clue."  
Harry, who'd gotten in easily the first day by transforming into an owl, bit his lip. Ron and Lupin didn't know he could do that.

Lupin at last said, "The defenses of Hogwarts are more than walls. Someone who's not allowed to enter shouldn't be able to without setting off alarms, not even if a door were left open. And the secret entrances, even those usually left accessible so students can taste mystery and adventure, have been sealed and trapped.

"Secret entrances?" said Harry.

"And passages. Whole rooms. Wait till your third year-they stop hiding so well once you're older. Sirius knows most of them-we caused a lot of trouble as students-but Dumbledore knows them all. If Sirius is using a secret passage, it's one Dumbledore doesn't know about it, and one he never told me about it, and both of those are hard to credit."

Hermione said, "Are you saying he has inside help?"

Lupin was silent so long Harry thought he wouldn't answer. It wasn't till they were nearly to the dormitory that he did. "That's on everyone's mind. But if Sirius Black really did have the run of the castle, it wouldn't be Mr. Filch's cat he killed. The ministry acts as if it's fact, but I'm unsure whether he's in the area at all. Rather..."

"Rather what?" said Hermione.

They stopped outside the portrait of the fat lady, which lead into the dormitories.

Lupin said, "It's a big world, and a lot goes on. But if it is Sirius... I couldn't do it, having the Shakes, but in third year, James, Peter and Sirius all became animagi. James a stag, Peter a rat, and Sirius a big black dog. He shouldn't be an animagus anymore. They give prisoners at Azkaban potions to break animagus ability, whether they're registered or not, but during the war James and Lily were always calling Peter and Sirius over to try out improvements. If anyone could survive the animagus stripping potions, it'd be Sirius. So Harry, if you happen to see a big black dog in the corridors, sound alarm and run."

#

#

Harry felt glum the next few days. Even the prank hadn't ended up being much fun. A piece of ham had fallen on Percy's laugh, which had set Ron laughing, but it'd only taken the prefect a moment to understand the problem and cast a counter-charm that undid the softening charm through the whole of the great hall. Then he'd stared hard at Ron.

When word spread that Mrs. Norris had died (no one mentioned dark magic) Katie Bell had said that she had used to pet Mrs. Norris when Mrs. Norris was in the mood, and Harry had felt inexplicably guilty.

Harry cheered up with the coming of the first real snow. Thick and powdery, bright in the sunshine, ice spreading across the lake, and the students of Hogwarts came out to play, snow angels and snowball fights radiating out from the kegs of hot cocoa that were put by the doors.

Harry ducked beneath a snowball, hit Ben with his own, and dropped into a depression that he was slowly building into a foxhole, mounding up snow walls at the lip of it whenever he had a moment. The Gryffindor first-years were at the outer edge, older students having claimed the prime spots by the cocoa and restrooms, which Harry didn't think was quite fair, since fourth years and up were allowed to warm themselves with magic, but there were better things to think about.

A large black dog trotted across the snow, tongue lolling, tail wagging, friendliness in every line of its body.

Harry recoiled, heart in his throat, remembering Lupin's warning.

Neville took a knee and it ran to him. The Gryffindor first-years gathered around, petting it, only Harry, Hermione and Ron hanging back.

Hermione said, "Is it Hagrid's?"

Harry shook his head. "It's not Fang."

"Doesn't Professor Kettleburn have a couple dogs?"

"This isn't one of them," said Harry. "The black one isn't this big."

"A stray?"

Ron said, "It probably ran over from Hogsmeade. That's not far away."

Neville said, "It's skinny. Does anyone have anything for it to eat?"  
Harry took a biscuit from his bag, tossed it, and the dog inhaled it. He approached warily and stretched out a fist. The dog sniffed it, whined, and Harry flipped his fist, opened it, and the dog delicately took the two strips of bacon he'd been holding.

Harry felt its ribs as he stroked its coarse fur. "I wonder if it's a stray." He offered it a biscuit, which it scarfed down on the snow.

Other students offered it whatever food they'd taken from the Great Hall, Eloise Midgen sending the dog into ecstasy with a pair of sausages she'd wrapped in wax paper.

Harry gave it another biscuit from his Expanded bag, then jerky, smoked fish from a week ago (the bag preserved food better than any can), and a hard boiled egg that peeled in a moment.

Eloise said, "Why do you have all that?"

"For feeding dogs, obviously."

"Harry."

"I like picnicking. Should we take the dog in? If it's from Hogsmeade a teacher can take it home." He raised a biscuit, the dog looked up, and he finally made eye contact. The dog felt friendly, and like a dog, but distant and dim somehow, like he was looking at it through tinted binoculars.

A sudden chill knifed through Harry, through the gloves, boots, robes and pants beneath that had resisted the snow and wind.

Cloaked black shapes coming out of the trees, gliding across the snow like a murder of crows, pushing the cold, fear and sorrow before them.

Neville said, "The-they aren't supposed to be here."

Harry said, "We'll just do what we were told."

The students didn't run. They'd been told that running invited chasing. They backed slowly away, still facing the dementors, each step taking them toward the castle, slipping wands from their pockets, wondering if they should call for help, but surely the dementors had some business to conduct, surely they weren't after them.

Without discussion, Harry and Hermione took smaller steps than the others, drifting to the front of the retreating group.

The black dog ran away.

The dementors continued toward the students, moving more quickly than Harry thought he could run.

The black dog turned back and ran barking around the dementors, snapping at a fluttering robe, jetted away, and the dementors ignored the dog, continuing straight ahead, the air colder and colder, knees shaking, darkness around his vision.

Hermione shouted "Alarum" at almost the same instant Harry cast Periculum, sending up a stream of red sparks that hung in the air. A few other Periculums were sent off, but most of the students had frozen.

"Get Harry out. I'll hold him off."

Double-vision in his mind's eye, the dementors closing, how many, so many, they shouldn't run, there was no point to running, everything was dark and helpless.

A red-haired woman appeared above, and snatched him into her arms. She was warmth itself, andfor a moment they flickered, but the flickering ended.

"Expecto Patronum." Hermione, quavering but brave, white mist shooting out of her wand, but it was like holding back the tide with a bank of fog.

The red-haired woman cast a spell that blew a wall off, a sheer drop into the yard. She dropped Harry in the crib, tugged open the closet, twirled out gripping a broomstick, and amonster walked in.

"Expecto Patronum," Hermione cast again, almost crying, and hardly a tendril of white mist came out. The dementors circled them, like students on a winter's day around a keg of hot cocoa.

The red-haired woman darted between the monster and Harry.

"Not Harry."

"Stand aside."

"Spare the child."

A twisted grin. "No."The monster raised its wand.

The red-haired woman raised her own.

Students began to faint, and Phil bit Harry's neck. The pain was pure and clear as a shard of ice, jerking him from the stupor, fear to anger and anger to a roar that left through long teeth, fur sprouting, nose becoming snout, four paws on the ground, a transformation to lion that spread from the mouth.

The dementors rocked in the roar like boats in a gentle ocean swell, and were no more affected. But Harry's own mind was relieved, like a storm-wracked sailor washed up on a beach, wondering for a moment whether the respite was from the roar or the transformation, remembering an instant with the returned clarity that animagi in animal form being resistant to dementors was something Quirrell had mentioned.

"Expecto Patronum!" Hermione again, still scared, the tremble in her voice running all through her body, head to toe, but firmness beneath, the mist a barricade.

They hadn't tested it, but Harry and Hermione had talked of how, against the troll, her Incendiare had been much more powerful when he'd roared at the same moment she cast it, and Harry waited for the moment.

Once more, "Expecto Patronum!" her surest yet.

Again the silver cloud, static and weak till Harry roared into it like he was blowing a bubble. The cloud extended here, retracted there, four legs and a mouth that roared, a silver lioness that pounced, forcing the dementors back.

From the side a large silver dog dashed in, driving more dementors in front of it, then a silver doe leapt through the students, and the dementors flew off at top speed, the doe pursuing, the silver dog vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, the lioness fading as Hermione staggered.

Harry transformed into himself so he could catch her if she fell, but Severus Snape, breathing hard, red-faced from exertion, beat him to it, one hand to her back, steadying her, the other hand holding his wand, directing the silver doe as it chased the fleeing dementors, casting glances at Harry all the while.

"Chocolate," said Snape. "Eat your chocolate."

A flash of fire, and Dumbledore appeared, white-faced with anger, phoenix on his shoulder. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" A silver phoenix burst from his wand, very like the red one on his shoulder, but so bright it hurt to look, so powerful the air shivered.

Harry hadn't known the dementors could flee more quickly.

"Severus, get them inside!" And Dumbledore was off, not quite flying but gliding over the snow in a fashion eerily reminiscent of the dementors.

Harry took Hermione's arm.

"Are you alright?"

"Just dizzy."  
More than dizzy, Harry thought, as they sat on the snow. She was pale as the snow. He took a heap of chocolate bars and treats from his bag and threw most of it at the other students, who were lying on the ground panting or crying, tore the wrapping off a large one, and gave two-thirds of the bar to Hermione, the rest to himself.

She bit into it slowly, then inhaled the rest, so he gave her another, then another for himself, warmth coming back into his limbs.

"Up," said Snape. "All of you, up. Eat chocolate as you walk, the walking will help. Back to Hogwarts we go." He pulled up Neville up by the arm, then Eloise. "Get up, or do you want to be left behind?"

That got the students standing, Harry feeling a flash of fear, then a flash of anger at Snape for frightening them into it. But the walking helped.

Other students were gathering around, older students looking with fear and curiosity. Snape spoke into his wand, and his voice came from the sky. "EVERYONE IN THE CASTLE. ALL STUDENTS, RETURN TO THE CASTLE."

Then quieter, to the Gryffindors. "Eat your chocolate as you walk. McIntyre needs more chocolate, who has more chocolate?"

Harry tossed a bar to Snape, who gave it to Tiffany McIntyre.

"You have more, Potter?"

He took a large, half-empty box from his Expanded bag. "School store."  
Snape took the box, distributing the chocolates among the other students, the silver doe prancing around them all the while, and Molly Weasley ran out of the castle, wand raised.

Ron had been avoiding her like he avoided Snape's eyes in potions class, but he ran to her, hugged her, and she returned the hug with only one arm, wand up, eyes scanning the field.

Snape said, "It's alright now Molly. Just get them inside.

The students were sat at tables, hot cocoa appeared, and Snape said, "Potter, Granger, with me."

They trailed in his wake, following Snape to the sick ward.

Madam Pomfrey looked up from her fiddling with a poky, many-levered implement Harry hoped to never see the use of, and Snape said, "A private room, if you will, Poppy."

Madam Pomfrey gestured to open doorway, and Harry and Hermione followed Snape into a little room with two chairs, a bed, a desk and no window.

They sat on the bed while Snape, closing in the door, stood before the larger chair. "The Aitches, once more at the center of catastrophe."

Harry swallowed, figuring that if even Snape was calling them that he was probably an H for good.

"Granger, did you cast that lioness Patronus yourself?"  
"I..." She glanced at Harry.

"Potter, transform."

Though reluctant, he didn't dare defy a teacher, and in an instant the lion was there,

"It is visible to anyone who knows how to look that that lion form is not a normal lion. The fur almost glows. The Nemean lion, which is what I take it you are, has the ability to disguise itself as a normal lion. Go someplace very private with a mirror and mayhap a close friend, and learn that. You can never have too many cards up your sleeve.

"So this is what we'll say. 'Harry Potter is a natural-born lion animagus.' Too many students saw for us to say otherwise. 'He was unregistered because he's a muggle-raised first-year and didn't know he should be registered.' As for that bloody large roar... Everyone heard it. It certainly answers for me what happened on Halloween, and gives hints to others. So, 'just as on Halloween, Potter cast a voice Amplification Charm on himself before transforming, which was quick thinking, as it allowed him to continue calling for help while transformed.' Harry, do you know the voice Amplification charm?"

Harry said, "I can learn it."  
Hermione said, "Sonorus. I already know it.

"Very well, 'Granger cast Sonorus on Harry, so he could continue calling for help while transformed. She also may have entertained hopes that the heightened roar would frighten off the troll and the dementors, respectively. Yes, muggle-born, but she's a quick thinker and very skilled. Hadn't you heard, she's managed the incorporeal form of Expecto Patronum as a first-year, which she used against the dementors, not to much effect of course, though it likely saved her fellow students a few shivers and nightmares. Then every capable wizard who could see what was happening cast Expecto Patronum, and a crowd of Patronuses drove off the dementors, a doe, a dog, a big cat of some kind, a phoenix, and we're not really sure what else, a lot happened very quickly, and everyone pitched in.'

"What we will not say is that Hermione Granger cast an incorporeal Patronus, and the roar of Harry Potter's Nemean lion form turned it into a lioness. Will that bother you, Potter? It won't chafe at you to hide your part?"

Harry bit his lip. Snape was always making little comments like that. And he didn't like that the story had Hermione casting Amplification. It makes her seem even more like supergirl. "It's fine."

"Good, now tell me exactly what-"

The door opened and Dumbledore walked in, jaw still set.

Snape said, "Headmaster, what did the dementors say?"

"That they were hungry, and felt the students playing. That they won't come again-I believe I frightened them enough that they won't try again for a long while." He looked at Harry and Hermione, measuring them up, and continued. "They also claim that, as our Patronuses drove them off, they detected, for a moment, the presence of Sirius Black."  
Snape hissed.

"They claim that his presence was absent, then was there, then was absent again. Like a light being turned on and off."

Snape said, "If whatever method he's hiding himself from the dementors with is so effective, why are they even here?"

"A question I will surely bring up to Minister Fudge. Politics being what they are, I'm unsure what the effect will be." Dumbledore took the smaller chair and said, "How are you two? You've had chocolate?"

Harry said, "If I have any more my stomach will hurt."

"Good. Tell me everything."

When Hermione mentioned the dog sprinting around the dementors and barking, Dumbledore said, "What dog?" and they had to go back and explain, which, sent the old wizard into deep thought, a hmming, mmming and scratching of beard.

Harry said, "You're wondering if-"  
Dumbledore said, "I was just thinking that I haven't played with a dog in ages. Continue."

When Harry mentioned hallucinating as the dementors got closer, Dumbledore stopped him again.

"Memory. The horrors dementors bring to mind are our own memories. Sometimes repressed or forgotten."  
He looked from Hermione to his lap. That was real? It'd been horrible, tasting of dread and loss. But he had seen his mother in a way that was realer than any photograph. "They were just about to start fighting when I transformed into a lion. Voldemort and Lily Potter."  
A wince from Dumbledore and a gasp from Snape, followed by the potions master saying, "Lily Potter?"

Harry said, "Is it alright for me to call her mother? I never knew her. It feels presumptuous. Would it be okay?"

In the silence, Harry heard how high-pitched and nasal his voice had been, how it had demanded that anyone listening tell him that Lily Potter had called him her son, and of course he should call her mother or mum or mom or even mummy, if he liked.

Harry said, "Sorry."  
"Continue."

Hermione did most of the talking from there, and when she was finished, Snape said to Dumbledore, "Pensieve?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "They don't need to relive it with such clarity today. Now, as to what we'll say happened...

Snape filled Dumbledore in on his planned story, and Dumbledore said, "I'll explain it that way at dinner. And Harry. Learn the Amplification charm. And I'll find some place where you can work on controlling that roar. But before that, before you even leave this room, you must learn to imitate a muggle lion. The moment you step outside the medical ward, you will be bombarded with questions by your fellow students, and demands that you transform into a lion. Given that it's the symbol of your house, no will not be taken easily for an answer. Passing shouldn't be hard. It's one of the basic abilities of a Nemean lion."

Harry nodded, thinking it would be even easier for him than Dumbledore supposed.

"Snape, I would like a moment alone with Aitches."

With a curt nod, Snape left the room.

Dumbledore held up a small square of glossy white paper in one hand, and his wand in the other. "Close your eyes, and think very carefully of the dog you met."

When they opened their eyes, the swatch of paper had a moving picture of the dog, eating a biscuit and being stroked by a crowd of hands.

"I'll show this to Lupin, when he's up to it." The photograph disappeared. "There will be a rumor, called ridiculous by most, that Miss Granger, in a moment of great danger and stress, cast a corporeal Patronus. There will also be rumors that there's more than sound to Harry's roar; the students felt that. The school newspaper won't be held off from trying to interview you much longer, and some form of whatever you tell them will be re-printed in the Daily Prophet. Say what you like; I look forward to reading it.

With a twinkle and a smile, he left.

#

#

"That's pretty good Harry. You don't look at all magic now. You're smaller too."

He tried a small roar, like tip-toeing with his voice, and it didn't carry beyond the room.

"Still a little magic," said Hermione. "Like exciting music."

He tried again, and she gave a thumbs up. He turned back into himself, sat on the bed next to her, and they didn't say anything.

Eventually, she lay back, so Harry lay next to her.

At first it was relaxing, but he began to get bored so he sat up and said, "We can't stay in this room forever."

To which Hermione replied, "Do you ever wish you hadn't gotten the Hogwarts letter?"  
He jerked like he'd put his finger in an electric socket.

"I love magic. I like magic. And Hogwarts is great. And I have friends-I'm even getting along with Lavender and Parvati again-but I miss my parents every day. And back home I was never attacked by a troll, or a dementor, and I was never worried about my best friend being hunted by a murderer." She looked around the room, at the old stone walls, the candles that made unwavering light and never dripped. "If this is the price of magic, I don't want to pay it."  
A hundred replies and a thousand ways she might respond rushed through his head, Harry searching for the words that would convince her to stay at Hogwarts but would also be true.

Harry said "Would you like to know my biggest secret?"

"I thought I already knew your biggest secret. The one even Dumbledore doesn't know."

"That's not my biggest secret." He looked around the room and almost whispered, "Until McGonagall made my Aunt and Uncle and give me a room, I slept in the cupboard under the stairs. I slept with my knees bent, or I didn't fit. I was in there a lot even when I wasn't sleeping. They liked locking me in there."

Hermione sat up, eyes wide.

"My Uncle used to tell me that guests and fish both stink after three days, and I should be grateful they hadn't kicked me out. They gave me my three meals, but I wasn't allowed to get seconds or to snack, so I was hungry. Not enough to look through the rubbish bin, but if there was free food at school I'd get as much as I could, and eat some and hide the rest. If I saw a rice-krispie on the ground, half out of its wrapper, missing a bite, I'd break off the part that was bitten and eat the rest.

"During dinner my Aunt and Uncle would watch the news, and every day things much worse than that happened. So I don't think it has anything to do with magic. Lots of horrible things happen to lots of people who don't have any magic at all. Before, you weren't one of them. The reason horrible things are happening to you isn't that you came to Hogwarts, it's that you made friends with me."

Harry shuddered. He had been confessing to convince her she shouldn't leave Hogwarts, but now he was telling her to leave him.

Harry said, "Maybe you should stop talking to me out of class until they catch Sirius." He was afraid to look at her, afraid to speed up her reaction.

She hugged him, chins over each others' shoulders.

Harry wriggled. He'd never been hugged like that before. He tried to draw back, and her grip tightened. He tilted his head to look at her face.

"Why are you crying?"

She hugged him tight enough to squeeze air out his chest. Slowly, hesitantly, like a child afraid of being sent to bed without dinner, his hands met behind her, and pressed against her back.

Hugging was a warm feeling, once he relaxed into it. Hermione's shoulder beneath his chin was damp, and he didn't why or when he'd started crying.

#

#

Hermione said, "I know what I'm going to do regardless of what you want, but what do you want me to do?"

"I should tell you not to spend time with me anymore, at the very least not till this is over, but my old school guidance counselor would tell you I wasn't raised with enough love to be selfless like that. I'm sorry, that was a bad sentence, I was trying to guilt trip you into staying my friend. I don't think I meant it be, but maybe everything I've said has been a guilt trip."

Hermione said, "From my best friend I'll allow it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo: I guess a lot happened this chapter, but I still feel like it was nothing but "talk talk talk." I guess that's a little inevitable, since Harry Potter books are mysteries that would be resolved more easily if people would have longer conversations and be familiar with what seems like it oughta be common knowledge, but Imma try an' do better.
> 
> Harry x Hermione shippers should like this chapter, & I feel you, but Harry's eleven and Hermione's twelve. The hug is a just a hug. That's why I sat them up.
> 
> I feel bad about killing Mrs. Norris. Wrote the scene both ways, decided I liked it this way better, and besides, y'all know no character is safe from an author willing to kill a cat.
> 
> I'm hoping a major plotline will be resolved in the next update, but it might not be till the one after that.
> 
> Check out my book on Amazon if you wanna read something with no dead cats.
> 
> Go to Amazon, select the department 'books,' search for 'Monstrosity, select the one by JLL (L, JL). and click on 'read free sample.' The cover is the same as my profile pick.
> 
> Strikes me as pretty cray cray sometimes that film composer Danny Elfman used to be the frontman for a successful rock band.


	7. Chapter 7: No Fighting in the Kitchen

Chapter 7: No Fighting in the Kitchen

Harry rolled his eyes and turned into a lion, as requested. Some of the students shrieked and jumped back, but they were the happy shrieks of kids playacting at fear. Katie Bell patted him, Fred Weasley turned a teacup into a mouse and loosed it in the floor, and George Weasley dangled string over his head.

He growled slightly to let them know what he thought of that, became himself again, and sat at the dining table. He and Hermione had come late for dinner, waiting till Dumbledore had explained things, and he had to eat quickly.

Angelica Johnson said, "You're a natural-born animagus? When did you first transform?"

"I think I was about nine."

"Lavender said you had cat eyes once."

Harry scratched his head. "Oh yeah. That. I wouldn't say cat eyes exactly. I was trying an illusionment charm, and it backfired weird. Wore off after an hour." He shrugged.

Next to him, Hermione was being pestered to demonstrate her incorporeal patronus, and was protesting that first-years weren't supposed do magic outside of class or the practice room.

An older girl said, "I checked, and the youngest student I could find managing Expecto Patronum was Dumbledore, as a second-year."

Hermione said, "They don't normally try teaching it to first-years. I'm sure lots more people would manage it if they did. And didn't Dumbledore make a corporeal Patronus his second year? That's much harder."

It went on like that, and an older Gryffindor named Oliver Wood asked Harry if he'd be the Gryffindor mascot at Quidditch games.

"You mean I'd turn into a lion, prance around the edge of the field, and roar when Gryffindor scored a point or whatever?"

"If you could also act sad when the other team scored? And we'll have to see about thickening your mane. Right now it looks like you've had a bad haircut."

Harry said, "Absolutely not."

"The mane?"  
"Any of it. I'm not being a mascot."

The Quidditch captain kept on pleading, Harry kept on eating, and Draco Malfoy wandered to the Gryffindor table, his friends Crabbe and Goyle in tow.

"Weasley. I hear you cried in your mummy's arms."

Rather than flushing, Ron said, "If you'd been surrounded by the dementors you would've wanted your mum too."

"I wouldn't," said Malfoy.

Ron said, "Why, you don't get along with your mum? I'm not surprised. Anyone would hate you."

Color rose to Malfoy's cheeks. "I just wouldn't be afraid of the dementors."

"Of course not. You're used to having nothing but bad memories in your head." Ron stuck out his lower lip. "Poor little Draco. Gets a pile of gold when what he really wants is a hug."

Draco's face-twisted. "At least we have gold, you impoverished mudblood lover."

All the Gryffindors were watching, and Percy got to his feet. Harry used the chance to slip biscuits in his bag without anyone noticing. Had to replenish his supply after giving so much to the dog.

Draco continued, "You're dead Weasley. Midnight in the trophy room. A duel. Come or you're a c-" He froze as Shelby Blank's open palm flattened his hair.

"Three detentions Draco. The first for challenging another student to a duel." She pushed down on his head. "The second for using a word you know you shouldn't, and all the other insults." She pushed harder still, making Draco bend his knees. "The third for being thoughtless enough to do it all loudly in the middle of the great hall. Not very Slytherin of you." It was at the last charge that Draco really wilted.

Shelby continued, "And Ron Weasley, two detentions for swinging wildly with a tongue so sharp."

"But I-"

"No buts."

"You can't issue detentions."

"No back talk, or you'll get a third."

Ron opened his mouth for another retort, and Percy clapped a hand over it. "He'll be there. I assume McGonagall will sign the form?"

Shelby nodded.

Ron tried to talk through Percy's hand, Percy said, "Honestly Ron, grow an off button," and Shelby dropped Malfoy off at the Slytherin table as she went to the High Table, speaking to Snape and McGonagall in turn.

That was enough excitement to dampen the attention on Aitches, and the walk back to Gryffindor Tower was unremarkable.

It wasn't till Harry saw Mrs. Weasley in the common room that he realized he hadn't seen Lupin all day. "Is Mr. Lupin alright?"

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Poor dear. He's riding it out in the room inside his suitcase. It isn't safe to be around a powerful wizard like that when the Shakes come on strong. All the magic just shakes out."

"But he'll be alright?" said Harry.

"He'll come out in few days, worse for the wear but hardly endangered."

Hermione said, "Is he a very powerful wizard?"

"He's no Dumbledore, deary, but I wouldn't want to fight him."

Ron had slunk behind taller students when he'd seen his mother, and was making as wide a circuit around her as space permitted, maintaining maximum distance on his way to the first-year boys' room, picking his way through chairs and sofas.

Harry said, "So you'll be staying with us tonight?"

Ron froze.

Mrs. Weasley said, "It'll be pleasant, I haven't slept in Gryffindor dormitory in ages. Course, I'll always did sleep in the girls' half, up till my fifth year leastwise, but I expect it'll bring back the memories."

George, Fred, and Percy, who had been hanging back looking merely uncomfortable, turned bright red as other students giggled.

Harry didn't know know what was so funny.

Mrs. Weasley said to her sons, "Don't worry, I know at your age mothers are embarrassing just by existing. But haven't I given you space? You won't even notice my being here."

The boys nodded, and Mrs. Weasley swept Percy into a hug.

"School going well?"  
"Sure."

"Being a prefect isn't too much pressure?"  
"No."

She straightened Percy's collar. "And have you met any nice girls?"

Percy's jaw worked.

"Grades are the top priority, I wish Fred and George would understand that as well as you, but I do want grandchildren someday."

Percy closed his eyes and pinched his own cheek, as if hoping to wake up from a dream, and Mrs. Weasley hugged the twins.

"Doing well, Fred, George?"

"I'm Fred," said George.

"I'm George," said Fred.

"Whatever dearies, it's never made much difference. Just keep your noses clean. And have you met any nice girls? You're getting to that age."

"Loads of girls," said Fred.

"Half the student population I'd say," said George.

Fred said, "Seventy, eighty percent of them are nice."

George said, "Come on George. Closer to ninety, don't you think?"

"Especially that Rutabaga Sanders. Very nice."  
"Never seen her so nice as the other day, when she was wearing the short muggle trousers."

"It's her politeness that does it," said Fred.

Mrs. Weasley said, "I hope she's tough, you two are a lot for one woman to handle."

The twins exchanged glances.

Fred said, "We were thinking more one girl each."

"Of course," said Mrs. Weasley. "Just letting you know you don't have to hide anything from me. I'm hip with it. I'll accept you for whoever you are. Takes all sorts to make the world go round, and there's two sides to every girl, I always say."

The twins turned pink, and Mrs. Weasley moved on.

To Harry's surprise, Mrs. Weasley hugged him and Hermione.

"And you two must be Harry and Hermione. Aitches. Ron mentioned you in his letter, and Percy says you're keeping him on the straight and narrow." Harry nodded, thinking that he was the one who'd proposed a prank to Ron, and Mrs. Weasley said, "I knew your parents you know, wonderful people. Early yet, but it looks like we might see a Potter marry a keen muggle-born girl for the second straight generation, wouldn't that be something?"

She patted their heads and scanned the room.

Harry understood enough of what she'd said for his cheeks to burn, and Hermione buried her face in her robe, scarlet ears poking up.

"Now where's my youngest." Her eyes alighted on Ron. "Bubbikins!"

Ron bolted up the stairs into the first-year boys' room.

Mrs. Weasley said, "A little shy to greet his mother at school, I expect," sat in one of the big chairs by the fire and began regaling Tricia and Damon with a story about the multiplication of her garden gnomes.

Hermione said, "I hope Mr. Lupin comes back soon."

"I thought you didn't like him."  
"If you think about it, what he said about me maybe not being better than Lily Potter was a big compliment, but he said it in a way that would make me want to work harder."

"I guess," said Harry. The students by Mrs. Weasley broke into shocked laughter, and Harry said, "She seems fun so long as she's talking to someone else."

#

#

The only other embarrassing thing Mrs. Weasley did that night was spend twenty minutes calling, "Here Scabbers, here rattie rattie rattie, Scabbers!" until the rat, skinnier than before, scampered out from between a pair of shoes. She feed it treats till it fell asleep on her lap, stomach bulging.

"Have you been properly feeding him?"  
Ron said, "He found some place to hide and he's been missing a lot."

"Then you must not be feeding him regularly. He'll come for meals if he knows when they are, won't you poochi-poo?" She stroked the rat.

Ron nodded, though Harry knew Ron had been putting food out for Scabbers at the same time every night.

Ron said, "Harry, could you take a look at him?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Everyone sees you with your owl. And there was that with the raven. And you've got a spider in your hair."

Neville said, "He has a sp-spider in his hair?"

Ben said, "He's had it the whole year. Little thing. Hides in his clothes when he takes a bath."

Harry should've been upset at another secret so casually spilling out, but it was really nice, actually, to think that they noticed stuff about him. "Mrs. Weasley, can I see Scabbers?"

It tried to run away when she handed it to him, but he got a firm hold and tilted it back, making eye contact.

He got the sense of rattiness, the expected desires for food and sleep, but he couldn't get a reaction or an image. It was like trying to grab something that seemed to be right in front of him but was actually distant, seen through tinted binoculars.

It turned its head aside, its little clawed feet beat against his palm, and it meeped.

Harry let it go and it ran to Mrs. Weasley.

"Well?" said Ron.

"I didn't get anything," said Harry. "Some animals are tougher than others. Sorry Ron." He shrugged, lay in bed and pulled the covers over himself.

It was just like the dog that probably wasn't Sirius Black.

#

#

Harry hurried through breakfast and said to Hermione and Ron, "I'm going to Hagrid's cottage to ask a question."

Ron took a pancake and two more slices of sausage strata. "Have fun."

Hermione said, "Is it important?"

"Probably not."

"I'll come."

They ran, knowing if they weren't quick they'd be late for Transfiguration, and Harry pounded on the wood door for most of a minute before concluding Hagrid definitely wasn't inside and looking elsewhere.

They found Hagrid cleaning blood and feathers out of a chicken house.

"Did something happen?" said Hermione.

"Somewhat got in an' killed all the roosters, but didn't eat them. But never yeh mind that. Harry, yeh're not supposed to come out here without an escort."

Harry said, "Just a quick question. How does it feel to use Charismancy on an animagus in animal form?"  
Hagrid said, "Just like trying it on a human, only you'll be surprised when yeh fall into a thought and can hardly get out."

"Read my mind, just the top, I've got something show you." Not the story of the dog or the rat, just the isolated sense of distance and dimness he'd felt trying to enter the minds of both.

Hagrid met his eyes, and a moment later shook his head. "That's new. If the animagus was an occlumens, it should feel more like an animal. This is blunter than that. Puts me in mind of a disguise or obscurement charm. Yeh haven't run into any big black dogs, have yeh?"

"Peter Pettigrew was a rat, right?"

"Lupin tell you that?"

Harry nodded.

"I used to drag those boys out of the forest once a month. Peter was a rat."

Harry said, "Did their minds feel like that?"

"Nah. Just kids in animal bodies. Made it easy ter tell them apart from the real ones."

Then... if that were true, it didn't work.

Except Lupin had said that his parents had always been calling Peter and Sirius over during the war to make modifications to their animagus abilities.

"During the war, were Pettigrew and Black spies?"

"That's confidential."

"Hagrid, please."

The big man frowned. "Aye, they were spies, using their animagus forms to creep close and listen. Peter especially."

Harry nodded. It was all frothing in his head. For a moment the conclusion seemed close, like a word on the tip of tongue. That sense vanished as he reminded himself that Sirius had been his parents' Secret Keeper and had betrayed them to Voldemort.

They ran back to the school, Harry explaining on the way.

Hermione said, "You don't think... What do you think?"

"I don't have any ideas, but I feel like I should. Do you want to just skip Transfiguration?"

"No."

"You're right, that would draw attention."

"We also shouldn't skip class."

They took their seats next to Ron just as Professor McGonagall began calling roll and the class passed in a blur, the most notable part being Malfoy calling Ron "Bubbikins," Ron immediately replying, "DrakieSnakieLakie," Draco blurting, "Where did you hear that?" and Ron sticking his tongue out.

When they had a moment, Harry whispered, "How did you know to call him that?"

"Couple years ago my da' was at their house for his job, heard Draco's mum call him that, mentioned it to my mum when he was talking about his day, and I heard them." Ron tapped his head, "This thing works."

When class ended the other students left and Harry approached Professor McGonagall's desk, Hermione and Ron hanging back by the door. "Professor, is the Patronus of an animagus usually the same animal as the animagus form?"

"Often, Potter, but far from always." Her voice lowered. "No one will blink if your patronus ends up being an owl, say, rather than a lion. But that's years away."

"Thanks Professor," he said, though that wasn't what he was thinking about at all. "See you tomorrow."

At the door he hissed to Hermione, "One more point for nothing making sense. I swear that silver dog Patronus matched the black dog."

Ron said, "Is anyone going to tell me what's going on."

"I'm wondering whether or not Sirius Black really is trying to kill me."

"If you don't want to say you don't have to be sarcastic," said Ron

Harry shrugged. It being a free period, they went to the library and got a study room. Ron lectured the walls about Quidditch players while Harry and Hermione got on with mulling over everything, concluding that in all likelihood the dog was just a dog, the rat was just a rat, and the dog patronus had been cast by a TA or upper-division student who hadn't seen any need to come forward and claim credit.

But that didn't sit right with either of them.

Hermione said, "Explain it to Ron."

"-Alston's pass rate is great, for sure-"

Harry said, "No, he's Ron. Captain Obvious and Captain Oblivious combined into one flesh."

"-Until she can learn to score, she shouldn't be-"

Hermione said, "And that's surprisingly useful."

"-defense is disruptive, but-"

Harry said, "Ron, you've been talking about Quidditch for half an hour and no one's listening, you're just talking to yourself."

"Yes, but I like company while I do it. I know what the plus-minus says about Alston's effect, but in the playoffs-"

Hermione said, "Ron, I have a question."

Harry said, "Hermione, no."

Hermione said, "Suppose that person S wants to kill person H, but when S met H and had a great opportunity to kill H, S helped H. Why would S do that?"

"Maybe S wants to get close to H to kill H properly, or S wants something else from H, or maybe S doesn't really want to kill H at all. How do we know S wants to kill H?"

"Because the Ministry says so."

"If the Ministry says so, why don't they capture S?"

"They'd like to. S is a fugitive."

Harry winced. Even Ron would realize this was about Sirius.

"What did S do to become a fugitive?"

"He was Secret Keeper to H's parents, but then he betrayed them."

"How does the ministry know he was the Secret Keeper?"

"Everyone knew he was the Secret Keeper."

"Everyone knew he was the Secret Keeper?" said Ron. "That doesn't sound very secret to me."

"Well, no." said Harry. "I should've thought of that."

Ron said, "The person that everyone knows is your Secret Keeper is almost the last person you'd want your Secret Keeper to be."

Hermione said, "That doesn't explain why S killed P."

"Who's P?"

"Another friend of H's parents."

Ron said, "Why wasn't he chosen as Secret Keeper?"

Harry said, "I don't know."

"If he was Secret Keeper, would we know? Are you sure S killed P?"

"There were over 20 witnesses."

"What did they see?"

Harry said, "They saw S meet P, P yelled at him, there was a big explosion, a lot of muggles died, and all anyone found of P was his finger. P had tracked down S since S had betrayed H's parents."

"Twenty witnesses saw two men face off, yelling at each other, then there was an explosion that left P's finger. P could've cut off his own finger and apparated away."

Harry said, "No, Black had cast anti-apparition spells over the area."

"Black! Who's Black?"

Harry said, "S. P can't have apparated because S had cast anti-apparition spells."

Ron said, "S cast them? Wasn't P the one who was trying to catch him?"

"S probably didn't want P to get away after he was found by him..."

Ron said, "Stealth spell of some kind. Invisibility cloak. Or by any chance, was P an animagus? Maybe something small?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged a very long look.

Harry said, "He could turn into a rat."

"There you go then. H's parents made everyone think S was their Secret Keeper, but made P the real Secret Keeper, P betrayed them. S, who was the only person who knew that P was the real secret keeper, tried to kill P. Maybe P survived, maybe he didn't, but everyone blamed S for killing P and for betraying H's parents."

Hermione said, "But to spend the next 10 years living with a wizarding family pretending to be a rat? Why? So he could keep an eye on things?"

Harry said, "He'd have to be gibbering insane."

Hermione said, "A gibbering insane Dark Wizard hiding in the Gryffindor first-year boys' dormitory would explain a lot."

Ron said, "What are you talking about?"

Harry said, "We think Scabbers might be a Death Eater."

Ron said, "Seriously Harry, I've already said, don't be sarcastic, just tell me you don't want to tell me if there's something you don't want to tell me."

Hermione said, "We have to talk to Dumbledore."

"We'll miss History of Magic."

She waved that off. "I've already read the chapter. And this is important."

They stopped on the way and got a copy of the newspaper Sirius had seen in Azkaban Scabbers was visible on Ron's shoulder, just as they'd remembered.

#

#

"What brings you three to my office when you ought to be in class?" said Dumbledore.

Harry said, "We know we're not really supposed to talk about the Sirius case."

Hermione said, "Or think about it."

"Or read about it."

"But we have a question."

Dumbledore sipped tea.

"When the unnamed Ministry official spoke to Sirius Black, did Black claim that he killed Peter Pettigrew because Peter Pettigrew was the Potters' true Secret Keeper?"

Dumbledore spit his tea out.

Hermione passed a handkerchief to Harry, who grinned as he wiped his face.

"Who have you two been talking to?"

"Ron Weasley," said Harry gesturing to the red-head.

Dumbledore said, "And he heard from his father?"

Harry cast a questioning glance at Hermione.

Hermione said, "Ron's father works for the ministry. But that's not it. We laid out the case for Ron, including a few things that confused us, and after talking it over, the possibility occurred to us. Not that Sirius claimed that, but that that was actually what happened."

Ron said, "What, when did we talk about Sirius Black?

Harry winced, and Hermione rubbed her temples. Harry said, "Just now. S is Sirius Black."

Ron gaped. "Then H is Harry? Who's P?"

Hermione said, "I don't get how your mind works, Ron. So smart, and then..."

Dumbledore said, "The thought that Sirius Black is innocent, and Pettigrew the villain, has given me sleepless nights. But I have always considered the possibility remote. I advised the Potters to choose Lupin or Black for Secret Keeper, as my trust of Pettigrew was imperfect, a recommendation I have regretted bitterly. And now you say my recommendation may have been right, but the Potters did not follow it as I had thought they had? What led you to this?"

"There's a lot," said Hermione.

Harry said, "But most of it amounts to nothing."  
"Mostly bits of nothing I think you already know. They're why you've had sleepless night. But the one bit of nothing you might not already know is this." Hermione brought out the newspaper.

"You're really going to show him that?"  
"Don't be embarrassed Harry, we have to show him, even if he'll laugh. The most important bit of nothing is this. This is the same edition of the Daily Prophet which seems to have triggered Sirius Black's escape, is it not?"

Dumbledore agreed.

"And the only piece of Peter Pettigrew recovered at the scene of his murder was one of his fingers. The right index finger, I believe."

"It was."  
Hermione tapped the picture, tapped the rat on Ron's shoulder struggling to avoid the camera. "If you use a magnifying glass, you'll notice it's missing the second finger on its right paw."

#  
#

The magnifying glass vanished when Dumbledore set it down.

Harry said, "I tried to read its mind, and I couldn't. It was just like trying to read the dog's."

"It would be."

"The only bit that doesn't make sense to me is why, if this is true, Sirius Black waited till he saw Pettigrew to escape. All the newspapers say Azkaban is hell. Why would he need extra motivation?"

Dumbledore said, "Azkaban's greatest safeguard is its dementors. After a few hours of exposure to the their presence, most wizards can't do magic, and it takes longer to recover. But an animagus whose unusual form of animagery defeated the stripping potions could protect himself by turning to his animal form. With so many prisoners, the dementors wouldn't notice one blinking in and out. And if your parents gave him the gift of animal embodiment, he might be able to resist their effect even when appearing human."

Dumbledore continued, "If Sirius thus retained his powers, the walls and bars, would be little obstacle. That much had already occurred to me. Only the charm barriers would be left to stop him escaping. The oldest and greatest of those are nearly impenetrable to those who believe themselves guilty, but are non-existent to those who believe themselves innocent. In the early days, before the walls, this was a problem. Among the guilty have always been those who thought themselves innocent, and among the innocent, those who thought themselves guilty. A relic now, but still powerful. Suppose Sirius believed himself to be guilty of killing Pettigrew in a crime of vengeance and vigilantism, and those old charms were all that contained him. Then he discovered that he was innocent of killing Pettigrew and those barriers ceased to exist for him. In that case, the newspaper is more than motivation. It's a key. Maybe."

Dumbledore took a mirror from his robes, tapped it with his wand, and said, "Shelby, Alastor, Molly, meet me by the entrance to the Gryffindor dorms. On the double." He tapped it again. "Pomona, send Fred and George Weasley to meet me outside the Gryffindor dorms. Right away."

Dumbledore strode out of his office, phoenix on his shoulder, the first-year trio hurrying to keep up.

Harry said, "Why do people even use owls if they have that?"

"Owls are secure."

"And why Fred and George?"

"They have something useful."

#

#

Two suits of armor had always flanked the portrait, and Harry had supposed them to be simply decoration. But they were shattered on the ground, and the painting of the fat lady between them had been cracked in half, a man-sized opening leading into the common room.

Harry stepped behind Dumbledore, who took the mirror out again. "Sybill, I need you at the Gryffindor dorms. Now. Sybill."

After a moment, Professor Trewalney's wavering voice emerged from the mirror.

"I'm in class."

"It's important. Tell them all about it next session." He tapped the mirror again. "Argus. The Fat Lady from Gryffindor dormitory has been attacked. Search every painting in the castle for her."

The Headmaster pocketed the mirror, and a cackling voice said, "You'll be lucky."

Without looking from the open passage, Dumbledore said, "What did you see, Peeves?"

The ghost bobbed in the corner, looking delighted. "She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscapes on the fourth floor, dodging between the trees."

"Did you see who did it?"

"Oh yes, Professorhead," said Peeves, flipping over and grinning at Dumbledore through his legs. "He's got a nasty temper, that Sirius Black."

#

#

As Peeves words faded, Shelby ran up, huffing and puffing, Mrs. Weasley beside her, riding side-saddle on a small broomstick that transformed into a dark, pink-rimmed sunglasses the instant she set down.

She put the sunglasses in her hair and said, "Sirius Black?"

Dumbledore nodded. "How long, Peeves?"

The ghost twirled. "Left twenty minutes in the past, I'd guess."

Dumbledore said, "Still, we'll be cautious. If you should happen upon one who doesn't belong, don't hesitate, but don't kill. Stun. And Molly, keep an eye out for your rat. If you find it, bring it to me. It may be a Dark Wizard in disguise."

Mrs. Weasley's eyes flashed. "What has Sirius Black done to my rat?"

"Not Black. And I doubt anything has been done. It's just a possibility." Dumbledore stepped inside, Mrs. Weasley and Shelby coming right after, Harry, Hermione and Ron waiting a moment to follow.

A very pretty older girl lay unmoving on the common room floor, books and papers scattered in front of her.

Hermione said, "Is she dead?"

"Just stunned." Dumbledore twisted his wand, and the girl sat up, blinking at them.

"You're safe now," said Dumbledore.

"Black, I think it was Sirius Black, I've seen his picture, he-"

Harry moved on, ignoring the girl, headed toward his room till Shelby grabbed his shoulder.

A thunk behind him, and Harry whirled.

Mad-Eye Alastor Moody, who Harry hadn't yet spoken to, pushed the Weasley the twins through the portrait hole ahead of him. Moody said, "These two claim you called for them."

Dumbledore said, "Boys, give me the map."

"Map?" said George.

Fred said, "Map of Hogsmeade? All the third-years want one."

"Boys, if you do not hand me the Marauders Map this instant I'll rethink my decision to let you have it."

"Oh, that map," said George, handing over a worn, smudged square of blank parchment.

"I solemnly swear I am up to much good," said Dumbledore, tapping it. Fred opened his mouth to say something, and stopped when lines of ink rose up, spreading across the page till it was a perfect little map of Hogwarts. In the Gryffindor common room, Harry saw the names of everyone who was in the common room.

The girl, he learned, was Rutabaga Sanders.

After a long look, Dumbledore handed the map to Fred. "Keep an eye on it. Look for Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew."

Moody said, "Pettigrew?!"

"Simply a possibility. Both are animagi, and may not appear on the map when transformed."

George said, "Animagi show on the map. We've checked."

"These particular animagi helped create the map."

The twins gaped, and the trio followed Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley into the first-year boys' room.

It was torn apart, mattresses, clothes and books strewn all around. Hedgwig, perched on a bed poster, hooted anxiously when she saw him.

Hermione said, "I always imagined the boys' room being untidy, but this is a step beyond my expectations."

Harry laughed weakly. Untidy indeed. Everything in the mess signaled anger. "If he did this..."

Dumbledore said, "Think. If he were after you, why would he break into the dorm at a time when he knew the students would be gone? He was looking for something."

Mrs. Weasley began to call for Scabbers, taking a little bag of cat treats out of her purse and shaking it.

Scabbers didn't come. Dumbledore cast a few spells to try and find the rat, said, "He's not in this room," and returned to the common room, satisfied Harry's room was safe.

Harry sat on the stripped frame of his bed. Supposing that Sirius really was a good guy, and Scabbers really was Pettigrew, this was horrible luck. Pettigrew would go to ground, and with his abilities as a spy be tough to find.

Hedgwig fluttered down from the bed poster and landed in his lap. He stared in her eyes, and saw her memories of Sirius Black coming in. Long dirty hair, pale, gaunt cheeks, tearing through their belongings with wand and hand, but slowing when he reached covered stand that Hedgwig slept in during the day, lifting up the black curtains and shooing the owl out before searching inside.

"Ron, do you have anything that smells like Scabbers?"

Ron fished through the mess and tossed Harry a folded square of felt. "That's his bed."

Harry's nose lengthened, enlarged, lionized. He put the square of felt to his nose and breathed in deeply, catching the scent.

His voice rumbled. "Hermione, get every owl and cat in Gryffindor dorm out in the common room."

An instant of confusion followed by a wide smile. Hermione skipped out.  
Harry tossed Hedgwig outside. She already knew.

Seamus had an owl, and Ben had a cat, both hiding in the closet. Eye contact, and they followed him to the common room. A few more students had come in, dropping stuff off before lunch, standing around asking Rutabaga what had happened, and Dumbledore and Moody had both left.

It started as just the sort of imitation meow any human might make, and changed halfway through into a full throated yowl that made the other Gryffindors jump. Two dozen cats ran into the common room as Hermione ran around making sure doors were open.

Harry hooted, and owls flew in, some of the freshly arrived students screaming at the way animals had gone mad.

To the cats, the look and the scent. To the noseless owls, just the look. To both, a certain something that was purely sense.

Fred said, "Harry, what's happened to your face?"

Harry hopped out the portrait door, calling back, "Didn't Dumbledore tell you he's looking for a rat?" and all the animals rushed out after him, then past him, spilling into the corridors, their one goal to find the rat he'd taught them of.

Shelby jumped out the portrait hole after, gasping as she got a better look at him. "Potions accident?" she said.

"No." He made eye contact with more cats. A moments later, those cats were running.

He hooted.

"You just changed again."

More cats, more owls, how many were in Hogwarts exactly? Between one step and the next he transformed into a lion.  
Harry took a deep snuffle, smelled traces of Scabbers all over, and tried to pick out the freshest. The cats and owls should be more focused on forming a perimeter than on catching the rat, though they wouldn't think of it as a perimeter.

He was sniffing a little cleft in the side of bottom of a wall when he heard, very distantly, a yowl.

It was quiet even to Harry's lion ears, but somehow Hermione knew to leap on his back and grab fistfulls of mane as his muscles bunched. They took off, leaving the others in their dust.

Down the hall, hard left, up some stairs, leap to the landing, streak through another another corridor, the yowling of cats getting louder and louder.

They slid into a kitchen, house-elves staring, cats skittering aside.

A grey rat dashed around inside of a circle of cats. Whenever it tried to get through, a cat hit it with velveted paws

Hermione leveled her wand at it, and Harry felt a little nervous. If they were right, this was a potentially dangerous wizard. If they were wrong, they were torturing Ron's pet rat.

The largest cat dropped its paw on the rat. Harry thought about interfering to save the rat...

A pop, and the cats leapt back as the rat turned into a portly man.

Harry roared as Hermione yelled, "Petrificus Totalus!"

A wand flickered in the man's hand, and Harry and Hermione froze.

"Damn it all," said the man, standing up.

Harry's eyes moved, but that was all. Their spell had been turned back on them. He felt sure he could break it if he could just roar, but he couldn't.

"What to do with you two?" Peter Pettigrew leveled his wand at them.

"No." The word had the force of a spell, and the wand flew from Pettigrew's hand.

Pettigrew pressed his back against a counter, going cross-eyed as he shrunk from the long index finger a small house-elf was brandishing like a wand.

"You know the rules. No fighting in the kitchen," said the house-elf, and pointed to the door. "Out, both of you. The big kitty can stay. Big kitty."

One of the other house-elves stroked his head, said, "Frozen," snapped its fingers, and the roar Harry had been attempting burst out, the loudest he'd ever made, shaking tables, Pettigrew's sparse hair flying back.

From the house-elves, applause and gleeful shouts of "big kitty!"

Pettigrew gathered himself enough to run for the door, and Harry hesitated, unwilling to pounce with Hermione still petrified on his back.

"Stupefy." Pettigrew collapsed, landing at the feet of a dark cloaked figure standing just outside out the doorway. An array of index fingers and snap-ready hands swiveled pointed at the dark figure, who held his wand ready.

"No fighting in the kitchen."

"I'm not in the bloody kitchen," said Severus Snape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo: This was my favorite chapter to write so far. Don't know how it was to read. I thought of my Molly Weasley as something like a cross between the canon version and Discworld's Nanny Ogg. And gosh Ron's stupid, in his way. Bit of a self-insert, honestly.
> 
> I nearly ended the chapter with Pettigrew leveling his wand at the Petrified Aitches, but decided that was too much of a cliffhanger.
> 
> If you're enjoying this, do me a favor and buy yourself a candy bar; that's about what Monstrosity costs. Go to Amazon, select the department 'Books', type in Monstrosity, and select the one by JLL. (L, J L) It's about a boy who, confronted by vampires, tells bedtime stories to a tree and bashes heads in with a baseball bat.
> 
> Reminder that struggling/aspiring authors love amazon reviews: they bump us up in the algorithms, creating some chance of 'catching fire' if the book is good.
> 
> I know in a general sense how things in this story will go (in a more general sense, you probably do too) and I'm displeased to report that after thinking about it a lot, I've concluded that the next chapter will not include a crowd of butt naked house-elves assaulting a laundromat.
> 
> Doing finger exercises so I don't get carpal tunnel,
> 
> -Rando Dude Who's Typing This Thing


	8. Chapter 8: Odds, Ends and House-Elves

Chapter 8: Odds, Ends, and House-Elves

Being careful to keep every inch of himself on the other side of the threshold, Severus Snape flicked his wand, and the unconscious form of Peter Pettigrew slid out of the kitchen and flipped over.

Snape's face paled. "Peter Pettigrew?" He knelt to take a closer look, and said, "Peter Pettigrew? Peter Pettigrew? Pettigrew?!" He shook his head, looked at Harry and Hermione, and saw something he did know how to handle. "And two first-years too stupid and willful to know they can't take on a full wizard. You're both in for a week of detentions."

A flick of Snape's wand, and Hermione could move again. She slid immediately off Harry. "Careful. He's a rat animagus. He'll try to escape again."

Snape startled, but said, "Thank you for the input, Granger. I'll be sure to ask you if I need any more advice on keeping captives." But he waved his wand again muttered "statare infinito." Then "Incarcerous" and Pettigrew was wrapped like a mummy in fine cords.

Turning back into himself, Harry said, "Detention?"

The lead house-elf said, "Bring back the big kitty."

Snape said, "Troop-Chief, I'll be taking these three now. But be sure, you'll have a chance to play with the big kitty later. I'll send along a ball of yarn."

Harry said, "What? I-"

"If they've done you a favor, you ought to repay it. Come."

They followed the potions master, Pettigrew floating ahead of them, Snape patting the animagus's head and saying, "Mysteries like these are what the Veritaserum in my office is for."

#

#

Minister of Magic Fudge, who Harry had read about in the papers, turned out to be a dumpy, balding man who looked nervous when he spoke to Dumbledore and tried to hide it by talking out his nose.

Dumbledore, Snape, Pratchett, Fudge and a few Ministry officials went into a room with Pettigrew for the interrogation.

Harry and Hermione were allowed to hang around outside. While Malfoy argued with McGonagall about his right to know what was going on, Ron snuck over and sat between them, and no one made him leave.

They picked up tidbits as tidbits filtered out.

Under Veritaserum, Pettigrew had admitted to being the Potter's Secret Keeper, and telling Voldemort where the Potters were.

Snape had found Harry and Hermione because he'd run across Professor Trewalney in a corridor. Her voice had turned deep and dreadful and she'd said to him, 'To find the rat, follow the cat, haha that rhymes,' and though Snape hadn't known what she'd meant by rat, he'd followed the screeching of cats.

Harry said, "Do you think Snape was serious about the detentions? We practically saved the day."

Hermione said, "Probably, but it doesn't really matter. I read the school rules in Filch's office and detentions don't go on your academic record."

Nevermind detention, Hermione worrying about her academic record sounded promising. "So you're not thinking of leaving anymore?"

"No, I've decided. I'm going home."

"What? Why? We're safe now. I bet the troll was Pettigrew's fault too."

"Do you think? I'm not sure how it helps him."

"He's crazy."

"Maybe? But the whispering only you could hear? Mrs. Norris? I guess that could all be Pettigrew. But we have to keep our guards up."

"I have to," said Harry.

Hermione stared at him, then said, "Oh gosh, you're talking about 'leaving' leaving. I was talking about Christmas vacation. We're supposed to sign the form to stay or go soon. I'm leaving, but for Christmas break. I'm coming back after."

He slumped, all the nerves gone out of him. "Are you still thinking at all about 'leaving' leaving?"

"No. When I said I'd accept a guilt trip from my best friend, that's what I meant."

"That's what you meant? I don't think that really means what you meant it to mean. Being worried you might go is kind of why I wanted to resolve the Sirius-Pettigrew situation so fast."

They sighed together, and Ron said, "I don't know why you two bother lowering your voices, I can't understand it anyway. What on earth is a 'serious petty grew situation'?"

Harry said, "Are you serious?"

"See, I don't understand what you mean when you say that word. But that's just an example. What I'm saying is that you two need to communicate better."

Hermione nodded. "You're right. Sorry Harry. I should've made sure you knew wha-"

"I mean with me," said Ron. "I'm in A-chiz too, right?"

"A-chiz?" said Harry.

"Yeah. Like, the top chiz. Chiz is... Like club or clique or something. Cool new word?"

Hermione said, "Are you serious?"

"I keep telling you I don't know what that is," said Ron. "Sometimes it's a person, sometimes it's an adjective, sometimes it might be a dog, sometimes it means something is cool or bad maybe, maybe dangerous, like 'Seriously Black' except you say it without the ly and I'm really confused."

"I think he's serious," said Harry.

"Am I?" said Ron. The words should've been a joke, but Ron's face screamed that it was an existential question.

Hermione said, "Ron, who did everyone always say betrayed Harry's parents to You-Know-Who?"

"Sirius Black," said Ron.

"Now say that name ten times fast, and pay attention to the sound."

"Sirius Black, Sirius Black, Sirius Black Sirius Black Sirius by Merlin's beard is that what we've been talking about?"

Hermione said, "Ron, what do you think has been going on the past few weeks?"

"Well-"

"Ron." Shelby Blank poked her head around the corner. "Come on buster. Time for that detention."

Ron said, "Today?"

Shelby said, "The old 'my pet rat turned out to be the evil wizard partially responsible for my best friend's parents' death?' Sorry kid, that won't work on me."

"What?"

"Come on. Better to get your mind off it."

Casting glances back at them, Ron left with Shelby, and Harry began to laugh.

Hermione said, "He was there when we talked to Dumbledore, right? I'm not making that up."

"He was there. I think he's learning dry humor from Jordan Lee."

"Lee Jordan."

"That's the one." There were too many Gryffindors to keep straight.

Fudge came out of the interrogation room looking shaken, having an argument with Dumbledore in the doorway, Harry and Hermione sitting very still, hoping not to be noticed, listening attentively.

Dumbledore pressed Fudge to send the dementors back to Azkaban, get word to the papers, declare Sirius's conviction overturned, and call for the man to turn himself in.

Fudge said that Sirius was guilty of jailbreak at the very least, and an inquisition would have to decide as to the other charges.

Dumbledore brought out the newspaper Sirius had seen, pointed out Pettigrew's rat form, and claimed Sirius had only broken out of jail because he'd realized students were threatened by a Death Eater, and considering how much money the Ministry might have to pay to Sirius if it turned out he'd been wrongfully convicted they'd do well to get on the man's good side.

That made an impression, and Fudge said he'd arrange for a new trial as soon as Black could be brought in.

They continued down the hall, the last words Harry hearing being about dementors.

The door had been left open, so Harry poked his head in. Pettigrew was trussed up and unconscious again, Snape and a black man who'd come with Fudge sitting casually with their wands pointed at Pettigrew.

"No, Potter," said Snape.

"I was just wondering if Hermione and I should leave. It doesn't seem like anyone has any more questions for us."

The black man said, "So you're Harry Potter. You look like your dad."

Hermione poked her head in the doorway. "If Sirius Black is innocent, does that mean he has custody of Harry now? Being his godfather and all."

Snape grimaced and the black man said, "Pettigrew has said what he's said, but a court will have to decide on Sirius Black's innocence. And Black will have to come to court for that."

Harry was taken with the idea of not living with the Dursleys, but he didn't want to discuss it with Snape and a man whose name he didn't know, so he said again, "Should Hermione and I leave now?"

"In a moment," said Dumbledore, behind him. "First we need to discuss the order of events."

#

#

The next morning, The Daily Prophet had Dumbledore's preferred 'order of events.'

Almost nothing in it that was directly about Harry or Hermione. Peter Pettigrew had been caught in the staff kitchen by Professor Severus Snape and a troop of house-elves. Yes, that Peter Pettigrew, the friend of James Potter. He'd admitted under Veritaserum to being the Potter's real Secret Keeper and having faked his own death, and Sirius Black would get a re-trial so soon as someone could find him to tell him he'd get a re-trial.

There was an article examining Sirius's likely being innocent and the legal implications of such, an article catching you up on all the history in case you'd forgotten or didn't know, an article questioning how a presumably innocent man had been sent to Azkaban in the first place, an article arguing Sirius wasn't really innocent since the courts wouldn't make such a horrible mistake, and two articles questioning why dementors had ever been sent to Hogwarts.

"They're certainly quick writers," said Hermione.

The Ministry was pointing out that Sirius was, at the very least, guilty of attempted murder (even if of a man he'd known to be a Death Eater,) prison breaking, sneaking illegally into Hogwarts, destruction of property in Hogwarts, and the stealing of Goody Smithmaker's wand.

There was brief mention of there being a 'flurry of furious felines' at about the time of the capture, but that was assumed to be either random or something a Professor had done.

A freckled Hufflepuff girl who looked fourth or fifth year sat down next Harry. "Sally Su, of The Hogwarts Herald."

Hermione said, "That's Ron's seat. He'll be back in a minute."

"I'll only take a minute. You're going to be written about anyway, so you might as well have some say in what's written."

Hermione said, "It'd show up in The Daily Prophet the next day, wouldn't it? Everything they write about Hogwarts comes from the school paper."

"Not everything," said Sally, tapping The Daily Prophet. "Almost nothing in today's edition. All from Dumbledore or Ministry officials, getting their narratives out."

Hermione said, "It's not very complimentary to the Ministry."

Sally shrugged. "Hardly half of the people in the Ministry want it to be. Now, Aitches. Why do you two get called that?"

Harry said, "Do you want to?"

Hermione said, "Sooner or later, it'll happen. So why don't we do it?"

Harry said, "Yeah. Aitches is obvious. Saying our names with an and in the middle is six syllables. And you've gotta decide which name goes first. Aitches is faster."

"And you're always together?"

Aitches nodded, and Sally said, "Why are you always together?"

"We're friends."

"You seem very close.

"We're Gryffindors, we're muggle-raised, and we haunt the practice room. That's a lot in common."

"You both haunt the practice room, but I believe Hermione has managed the harder spells."

"He's better at dagarary."

"I am way better at dagarary. Broomstick riding too. Plus, I can turn into a lion, and she can't. Lame. And she's older. Way old. I heard her and Dumbledore reminiscing about Grindelwald together. She might be the oldest first-year, you should look it up."

Hermione said, "I did look it up. I'm the sixth oldest first-year. And Harry, you are literally the youngest. Your birth date is the cut-off date. If you'd been born a day later, you wouldn't be here till next year, so my thanks to your mum for not dallying in labor."

Harry said, "See, she knows everything and she's always right. It's annoying."

Sally Su's eyes darted left and right as they talked, smiling slightly. "You were both attacked by a troll?"

"When you phrase it like that it sounds like two different trolls. One troll, same time. It was scary. Big, smelly. What you'd expect of a troll. Then Dumbledore came."

"And you turned into a lion?"

Harry nodded. The interview strolled on, going through questions they were used to answering, the breakfast table emptying, Harry beginning to wonder why Ron wasn't back yet.

Sally said, "And the recent events, with Pettigrew and Black."

"I was rooting for them to catch Black, and now I'm hoping to meet him soon, so it's been interesting."

"I've heard rumors you were more involved. Something about summoning cats."

Harry nodded. "I saw some of the cats going nuts. That was cool."

"But you don't have any idea how that happened?"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other. "Probably Professor Kettleburn?" said Hermione. "Suddenly there were a lot of Professors coming and going from Gryffindor tower, so I don't know who did what."

"Yes, and while that was happening, Hermione, you were... riding Harry through Hogwarts?"

Hermione said, "If you phrase it that way we're never giving you an interview again. Right Harry?"

"...Sure," said Harry, not getting it but going along.

"Don't mention that part of it at all. At all. Don't even allude. We were wandering through the corridors, looking for Pettigrew, because we'd heard that's what Dumbledore was doing and that was really confusing, and we found him. Luckily, he'd already been found by some house-elves, and Professor Snape came a moment later. So now we have detentions, because looking for Pettigrew was stupid."

"And you don't have any insight into how or why Peter Pettigrew was hiding in Hogwarts, or where he's been all year?"

"Those sound like questions for Dumbledore," said Hermione.

Ron finally came back from the restroom.

"Where were you?" said Harry. "It's been over half an hour."

"I got lost coming back."

"Those corridors don't move, Ron."

"They did today."

Harry shrugged and stood. "Sorry Sally, it's time for club sign-ups."

"One last question. Harry." She smiled. "How does it feel to have defeated perhaps the greatest Dark Lord who's ever lived?"

"I don't know. Everyone says I defeated Voldemort, but a one-year-old can't even defeat a stray cat. I read what's known, and I think it's clear what happened. My dad died at the bottom of the stairs. Tired Voldemort out, maybe. Then my mum fought Voldemort in the nursery, and they killed each other. I got the scar in the crossfire. So if you wanna know how it feels to beat maybe the greatest Dark Wizard ever in single combat, you'll have to find a way to ask my mum. And you can quote me on that."

#

#

A cavernous room where usually there was smaller rooms and hallways-either it was an expanded room or the castle had reorganized itself for Club Saturday. Either way, the room was full of older students at booths, trying to get you to join this club or that.

Club activities had been going on since the second week, but new-member recruitment didn't happen almost till Christmas break. That way the first-years had time to develop some idea of what interested them. After a few meetings they had a couple weeks off to think over whether their choices had been mistakes or not.

The Quidditch Club seemed to be the most popular, though the large booth was festooned with signs reminding first-years that the House Teams had already been selected.

Enchantments club. Charms. Divination, Art, Potions, Journalism-Sally Su was slipping into the booth-History, Chess, Dueling.

"Dueling?" said Harry.

"Boring sport," said Ron. "They have to restrict the spells that are used so no one gets hurt. It's mostly counters, so all you see is one spell, then two seconds of wand twiddling before someone falls over."

Harry's eyes caught a small, ratty booth with four chanting members.

Reparation for the Goblin situation

Freedom for the whole of house-elf nation

Stop all non-human vilification

Wands for all, plus education

"Setomb" said Hermione, reading what was written on their booth. "Students for the Equal Treatment of Magical Beings."

Ron said, "Nutters, the lot of them. Goblins shouldn't have wands. And house-elves aren't slaves, they're house-elves."

Hermione ran over, grabbed a pamphlet, and ran back.

Harry said, "Two of them are waving signs." He felt embarrassed just being within earshot.

"I'm only reading it."

They moved on. The Muggle club. The Purebloods club. The Dagarary club, which was the biggest booth after Quidditch club and had the longest line of first years, Shelby presiding over it.

"Hermione, want to join it with me?" He hadn't seen a legilimency, occlumency, or charismancy club, and he'd been looking.

Hermione said, "I'm going to join Enchantments."

"They said to join two clubs."

"I have to think about the second one longer. I need to read about Setomb, and talk to some house-elves, and maybe goblins if I can."

"Really?"

"Maybe. If they wouldn't shout so much. Maybe not. Join Enchantments with me."

"I have the thing with Hagrid, so I'm only joining dagarary. Ron, join it with me."

"No," said Ron. "I don't need to join an academic club. I'm already in the 'always in the practice room' club with you two."

"You're not 'always in the practice room,'" said Hermione.

"Not compared to you two, no."

Hermione said, "I spend plenty of time at the library."

"It's the same thing, you horrible nerds. I'm not joining an academic club. I'm joining the Quidditch Club, where we fly like dragons through the sky, and then a nice, light-hearted club where we just relax and have fun, like real kids."

"What club?"

Ron crossed his arms. "I'm joining the Chess club."

Harry met Hermione's eyes and smiled. She giggled. Harry chortled. Real laughter rose up from both, and Harry's eyes teared up.

"What? What? Stop laughing. Why are you laughing?"

Hermione gathered herself enough to say, "Ron Weasley, whether you know it or not, you are the biggest nerd in Gryffindor."

#

#

The dungeon was chill and uncomfortably moist, which didn't bother Harry so much as the Dungeon's containing Snape.

"Dunderheads. Tell me why you're here," said Snape.

"We tried to catch Peter Pettigrew," said Harry.

"And why's that bad?" said Snape.

Hermione said, "Because he's a full wizard and we almost got ourselves killed."

"That's the answer," said Snape. "Why were you nearly killed? From hearing the descriptions of it, yours and his, you had every advantage."

"I was too slow," whispered Hermione.

"Yes. Petrificus Totalus was the best choice among the spells you know, but you're slow. So I'm told. We don't discourage that. We like young students going slowly, getting the movements just right, all the fundamentals in order. The only exercise first-years do to develop speed at spell casting is a spot of dagarary in Defense class. Harry, I'm told, is fast. Do you know the spell?"

"Not yet," said Harry, though he'd looked Petrificus Totalus up, and it seemed within his reach.

"Suppose you did know it. You're fast. You might have managed to freeze him. A moment later, he would've broken the spell. Oh, have no doubt that even wandlessly, a full wizard can break a first-year's spell. If Hermione's spell had struck with the force of your Nemean roar behind it, it might have held, but we've already discussed that. So what did you really need to capture him properly?"

"Practice," said Harry, knowing even as he said it that Snape would not be pleased.

Snape said, "Exactly. Practice. Effort, over time. Years of effort over time. First-years do not hunt Dark Wizards. Neither do second-years. Or third-years. Or fourth-years. Maybe, maybe, just maybe, in situations of great urgency, national emergencies, fifth-years. Maybe. You understand?"

"Yes," they both said.

"Good. Welcome to detention. You won't enjoy it. Unlike certain others, I am of the belief that detention should make you feel detained. There will be no fun or conversation. You will copy pages from this book." Snape dropped a thick, black leather bound tome in front of them. "I will check whether you've done it properly, and if you haven't, you'll be detained longer."

Snape returned to his own desk and opened his own book. "Get cracking."

It was a dictionary of potion ingredients, listed alphabetically. Harry winced and got to writing. Aarvak's Hoof. Abelia Rex. Ab ovo. Ackee. Aconite. Acromion. Definition after definition. While Harry was still two terms from the end of the first page, Hermione finished it and turned the page.

Without looking up from his book, Snape said, "Go back. Potter hasn't finished the page."

Harry turned back to the first page. Adam's Needle, also called Veniletsu, a type of yucca useful for-

"Miss Granger. You're not writing."

"I already finished the page."

"Then re-copy the definitions until Potter catches up." Still reading his book.

In a minute, Harry turned the page and they started on the next one.

"You're going slower, Granger."

"I don't want to get ahead of Harry."

"You can't wait for him."

Harry sped his writing up.

"Keep it neat, Potter, or you'll get another detention in which you can copy it all again."

When Snape had said they'd be copying, Harry had been relieved it wasn't something worse. Clearly, he'd underestimated Snape's ability to add harassment to boredom.

"Professor, do you have another copy of this dictionary?"

"Three," said Snape, gesturing to the bookcase behind him, eyes still on his own book. "And no. You can't use any of them. Write faster Granger, I know you can."

Harry said, "You dislike everyone in Gryffindor, but why do you dislike me more than the anyone else?"

"Let's see. You're cocky. A show-off, in a calculatedly understated way." Snape scratched his chin. "That isn't much. Considered objectively, you're a good student. You pay attention in class, you do your homework, you study before tests, and you do a decent job at your potions even when I separate you from Miss Granger. You're not disruptive. You don't bully other students. There isn't any particular reason why I dislike you more. I just do. Accept it, like bad weather."

It shouldn't have mattered. He was used to being disliked for no real reason. It was what his Aunt and Uncle had always done. But he hadn't felt that way since coming to Hogwarts. His eyes watered.

"Are you crying, Potter?"

He blinked his eyes. "I shouldn't be. This is stupid. I'm not even that upset." He wiped salt-water off his cheek. He hadn't cried in years, so what was this? "This is more annoying than that was upsetting."

Snape returned to his book.

Harry and Hermione copied lines, and the minutes passed to the sound of quills scratching and the clock ticking.

Flipping a page, Snape said, "Potter, when a Professor tells you something, what's the most important question to ask yourself about it?"

Harry said, "Whether it'll be on the test."

Did the corner of Snape's mouth quirk for just an instant? "Always a question worth asking, but not what I'm looking for. Miss Granger, what do you think?"

"How it relates to other subject matters?" said Hermione.

"Not a bad question either, but not the most important. No, the most important question to ask yourself is, 'Is that true?' Or maybe, 'How much of that is true.' Due to a great deal of work by a great many people, the answer to that question in relation to class material will almost always be 'It's all or nearly all true.' But other matters... Potter, how much of what I've told you today do you think is true?"

"Ummm..."

"I, your Professor, told you that when a Professor tells you something, the most important question to ask yourself is whether what the Professor told you is true. So, do you think that's true? How much of it?"

"I, well..." What was this? "If what you're told isn't true, nothing else about it matters."

"Really Potter, only a statement's truth is meaningful? One man says the earth is shaped like a plate. Another says higglegriddle fluff cures lampanus. Both statements are false. Are they equivalent?"

"The one about the earth is more important."

"Unless you have lampanus," said Snape.

After copying three more definitions, Harry saw an out. "If the most important question is whether a statement is true, then it's true that being true is the most important thing, and if that's false, it's not as important that it's false, so it's safer to assume it's true."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "An argument from self-reference leading to a wager. Interesting. But if the most important thing about a statement isn't whether it's true, the most important thing must be something else. For example, the most important question might be what quality of the statement is most important. If that's not truth, you're getting the most important aspect wrong. But interesting. If you like self-reference, try the purest form of the problem. 'This statement is false'"

"We need Ron for this," whispered Harry to Hermione. This was right up Ron's alley. Other than talking about Quidditch, this WAS Ron's alley.

"No you do not need Mr. Weasley the youngest," said Snape. "Think about it. You're at the perfect age for navel gazing."

Harry thought about it, and his head hurt.

Hermione said, "This statement is false. We accept that that's true. That's one step. The second step, we remember that the statement is that the statement is false, which falsifies the first conclusion. The third step, we remember that the statement says it's false, which makes it true. The fourth step, we realize being true makes the statement false. And it just continues. So if you think about it an odd number of steps, it's true, but if you think about it an even number of times, it's false."

Snape said, "So veracity depends on how much you think about something? You're told the world is plate-shaped, and you say, 'wait a minute, in order to know whether that's true I have to figure out whether the number of logical steps needed to unpack that statement is divisible by two or not?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"It can certainly be argued that I just compared apples to Hippogriffs-logically speaking, does what might go for the formal logic of a self-referential statement go for anything else? At the very least, your answer was interesting. Now consider the statement, 'This statement is true.'"

Harry said, "If it's true, it's true, and if it's false, it's false, so I don't see any problem."

"Hmm," said Snape. "The statement is obviously complicated with 'false', but it at least seems simple if you replace 'false' with 'true.' Does that suggest anything about the nature of truth and falsehood, or of logic, or is it just an artifact of how the question is phrased, or does Harry just need to think harder?"

Neither had a reply, and Snape's smile got nowhere near to his eyes. "We're out of time. No detention on Sunday, but when you come on Monday I expect you to have an answer." He tossed Harry a ball of yarn. "And Potter, be sure you visit those house-elves tomorrow."

#

#

"That sounds like the best detention ever," said Ron.

"Okay."

"Can I come on Monday?"

"I'll ask."

#

#

Sunday mornings were lazy, with most of the students wandering into the common room at ten or eleven and partaking of a light brunch. Harry and Hermione read the Sunday paper over coffee and flaky cherry turnovers with chocolate drizzle. The Daily Prophet had it that Peter Pettigrew was a rat animagus who'd hid out with the Weasleys. Molly Weasley was adding one thousand and twelve counts of voyeurism to the charges against him. 'Saw me in my knickers.' The laughter that brought to the common room relieved the nervous mumbling over the idea that a Death Eater had spent years pretending to be a family pet and had slept nightly in the Gryffindor dorms. Half of them had held Scabbers.

The Weasley brothers were bombarded with questions. Ron said he'd only just found out from Shelby, and he couldn't find Scabbers.

"Ron, Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew."

"Yeah, I know, that's why I can't find Scabbers. Could you help me look for him?"

Katie Bell asked Ron if he was alright.

Ron rubbed his temples. "My head hurts, and I feel stupid."

"Maybe you should go back to sleep," said Harry.

"I've slept a lot the past two days. I keep napping. I've been cooped up inside too much. I'll go outside and get some fresh air." He started for the exit.

Hermione said, "Ron, you're in your pajamas and it's nothing but slush outside."

"Oh." He looked at himself. "And I forgot something else too. I'll change." He trudged up the staircase to the first-year boys' room.

Hermione yelled, "Should we go with you?"

Without looking back, Ron shook his head. "I wanna be alone." He shut the door behind himself.

"Poor guy," said George. "He's in shock. Never knew he cared about the rat that much."

Hermione said, "Does Hogwarts have anything like a school counselor?"

Harry said, "I never liked school counselors. And I'd be pretty dazed if I found out Phil had been an evil wizard the whole time. Give him space."

"If he's not better tomorrow we're taking him to see Madam Pomfrey."

"We'll ask him to see Madam Pomfrey." Wanting to change the subject before it turned into an argument, Harry held up The Hogwarts Herald. It already had their interview, edited for length and clarity. "Have you read this yet?" Thanks to the explosive news about Scabbers, The Hogwarts Herald was even more unread than usual.

"Yeah. I bet a lot of it will be in The Daily Prophet soon." Hermione said.

"We knew that when we agreed to the interview. Anything about finding Sirius?"

Hermione repeated it rotely. "Due to the demonstrated danger to students, the dementors have been recalled, but despite recent events, students are to regard Sirius Black as dangerous until told otherwise. If you see him, contact a teacher and do not approach." She shrugged. "And I'm sure that goes double for you."

Ron came down appropriately outfitted for the chill and the slush, and left out the portrait hole, which, in the Fat Lady's absence, was being manned by the portrait of Sir Cadogan.

Around the time Neville went around asking if anyone had seen his toad, Harry reminded Hermione that he had to go play string with the house-elves in the staff kitchen.

Hermione said, "I've been wanting to talk to house-elves anyway."

On the way to the staff kitchen they passed several posters asking Sirius Black to please report to the Headmaster's office, and Harry turned into a lion as Hermione knocked on the door.

The door opened a crack and a house-elf holding a meat cleaver poked its head out. Its shout of "Big Kitty!" was nearly drowned out by the cacophonous clattering of pots and pans escaping from the kitchen.

The house-elf's head withdrew, the door shut and the clattering cut off like a switch had been flipped.

The door opened all the way, revealing a crowd of house-elves. Their clothing was a riot of non-coordinated colors, several with underwear on their heads. They sat before pots and pans turned upside down on the floor, spoons and tenderizers in hand but held loosely, silent as they took in Harry and Hermione.

To Harry, the bigger question than why they'd been banging on pots and pans was how they'd heard Hermione's knock.

Shouts of "Big Kitty," and he was dragged in, house-elves jumping on his back, petting him, hanging off his neck like he was a jungle gym. Fearful of being crushed, Phil ran inside Harry's ear.

A bang, and the house-elves' movement stopped.

"Off," said one wearing a neon green polo belted at the waist by a strip of red lace, and they slid off Harry, quiet as spiders.

The house-elf said, "If an animal is really a wizard or witch, we can tell. Like seeing a color. As I look at you, you are truly a big kitty. And yet the other day I saw you become a young wizard, and you were truly a young wizard. Do it again."

Harry turned into himself, and other house-elves gasped.

"I am Mistmack, Troop-Chief of the Hogwarts Staff Kitchen House-Elves. And you are Harry Potter, The-Infant-Who-By-Trying-To-Kill-The-Regressor-Regressed-Himself. Not an infant any longer." He pointed to Hermione, who stood outside the door, afraid to enter uninvited. "Enter, companion of the The-Infant-Who-By-Trying-To-Kill-The-Regressor-Regressed-Himself, and close the door behind. We will not be overheard."

Hermione sat on a counter, which, being sized for house-elves to work at, was at the height of a low bench. "By Regressor, you mean Voldemort?"

Mistmack hissed. "Not that name. It is what it is, not what it styles itself. But yes. By that name you know it. The Regressor. Infant-Who-By-Trying-To-Kill-The-Regressor-Regressed-Himself, a spider pokes its head out your ear, so you know, do you not?" Mistmack pointed its long index finger at counter. "See!"

A line of spiders went across it like marching ants, coming out of a tiny whole in one wall, disappearing through a tiny whole in the other. "Spiders flee and two house-elves are missing, one from the Troop In the Kitchen Abutting the Great Hall, one from the Troop in the Owlery. It's as long ago. The Regressor is here. In this very school. We feel it in our skin and bones. The Consolidator stalks it, aiming to end it finally and entirely."

Harry did not want to say, 'Regressor,' but didn't want to be shushed by Mistmack. "You-Know-Who is in this school?"

"Who?"

"You-Know-Who."

"I don't. Who?"

"The Regressor. The one we call Voldemort. He's in this school?"

"Yes."

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. This one wasn't wearing underwear on his head, but it was hard to take him seriously.

Hermione said, "If that's true, we're not the ones you ought to tell."

"We have spoken to the Consolidator."

"The Consolidator?"

"Albus, you call it."

"Dumbledore?"

Mistmack nodded. "It has many names. It plays with the Regressor a game of cat and rat. The cat cannot refuse a game where its prey walks into its very lair, and yet there is danger. The rat would not take such risks if it did not believe by doing so it could become the monster it once was. And speaking of rats. I saw one in this kitchen two days past. It was a surpassingly strange rat, but still a rat, not a wizard. Then it became a wizard before my very eyes. A wizard, I now hear, who was servant to the Regressor. And there has been in this castle a dog surpassingly strange, but still, it seemed a good doggy. We played with it, and let it out when it whined at the door. Now I fear to discover what it may be."

"It's Sirius Black," said Harry. "He's a wizard. We thought he was a servant to the, uh, Regressor, but now we're almost sure he wasn't really. If you see him again, tell him to talk to Dumbledore."

"So it was a good doggy? Good." Mistmack turned to the other house-elves, and let out a stream of sharp, high-pitched chirps, clacks and whistles that reminded Harry of the time he'd been to the aviary at Aunt Marge's retirement home. The other house-elves responded in kind, and sonic pandemonium continued till Mistmack quieted them with a raised hand and said, "We feared we had assisted a servant of Regressor. It's relief to find we did not. And we liked the doggy. But are there more like you, who can become another thing entirely? Or like the wizards Pettigrew and Black, who as animals seemed to be but strange animals?"

"It should just be me and them."

Hermione said, "We only think Black is not a servant of You-Know-Who. We're-"

"Who?" said Mistmack.

"We think he's not a servant of the Regressor. He probably hates the Regressor a lot. But we're not totally sure. So be careful, if you see him."

Harry said, "Do you know where he is? Sirius Black. The black dog."

Mistmack nodded. "He is in the Out."

"The Out?" said Harry.

Mistmack drew a hand through the air. "We let him through a door into the space which is not the castle and not a house. As you see it through a window."

"Outside? The place with trees in it?"

Mistmack nodded.

"Anything more specific? It's a little large."

"Bigger than the Great Hall?" said Mistmack.

"Bigger than the library," said Hermione.

Mistmack blinked and his ears rose. "I think you are pulling at my leg."

"Maybe, but can we go back to the part where Voldemort is in the school, spiders are fleeing and two house-elves have gone missing? Because that seemed important."

Mistmack let Hermione's choice of name slide and expanded on he'd said, but didn't seem to have a lot to add. "The missing ones might be dead, or used for Dark Blood magic. Many evil wizards Abigail! Muncklymouse. Bababababababa!"

A different door swung closed, a five or six-year-old girl having just gone through it. She stood in the kitchen, hands on her hips, and Mistmack swept her into a hug despite her being the larger. She was placed at the counter, a pile of cookies and a glass of milk appeared, and the house-elves surrounded her, laughing and shouting.

Harry said, "We've been forgotten."

Hermione said, "Must be one of the Professor's kids. Their apartments should be through that door."

Harry was tempted to explore, but he still had six detention scheduled and didn't want more. Instead, he tapped Mistmack on the shoulder and said, "We'll be going now."

"Hi," said the little girl, sticking out her hand. "I'm Abigail."

"I'm Harry Potter."

"Really?"

They were stuck in the kitchen for a few minutes more, during which time Harry decided he was bad with children, then made their excuses and left.

Harry said, "Let's go look at The Out."

Hermione said, "It's hard to take them seriously, but..."

"I know." He was afraid too.

"Security has relaxed a lot, but you're still not supposed to go outside without an escort. And you're thinking that Sirius has already approached you outside once. Even if he's totally innocent of everything he's been in Azkaban for ten years, and that can't be good for anyone's sanity."

"If we happen to see Sirius, I'll use the necklace to call for Dumbledore, and we won't approach. If he tries to approach us, I'll turn into a lion, you'll get on my back, and we'll run more quickly than he can chase. And we'll stick close to the castle, I promise."

The sun was turning the slush to water, but the air was brisk and they weren't dressed for it, so they walked quickly, keeping to the cleared gravel paths. They paused at the lake for a moment to skip a few stones across it, (the thin spars of ice from the cold snap had melted), went around the greenhouses, kept very carefully on the path when they passed through the dangerous vegetables patch, and found Hagrid just as they'd found him a few days before: stooped low, cleaning a chicken house.

Spatters of blood, feathers here and there, seven dead chickens lying in a pile, the surviving hens still in the chicken house, squawking and flapping their wings. Hagrid waved his hand at a bloodied stretch of the floor, said, "Scourgify," and the stretch of wood was clean.

"Did a fox get in?" said Hermione.

Hagrid stood, cracked his neck. "Aitches. No. Whatever did it broke the simple charms I'd put on the chicken house. Killed all four roosters, went into the hen half, took a few eggs, killed a few hens. Single puncture wound to each and drained their blood. Not sure what it was."

His clothes had stood up to the chill, but Harry grew cold as Hagrid spoke.

Hermione said, "It wouldn't be Sirius, would it?"

"Can't think what he'd get out of it. Must be something nasty coming in out of the Forbidden Forest, and it's done it during the day. Chickens were fine when I fed them at half past six. Stay well away from the treeline."

Hermione said, "Maybe we should go inside."

"It's only chickens." But his voice quavered at the end. Voldemort wouldn't have anything to do with dead chickens. Would he?

"Harry, going outside was already silly before we heard about the chickens."

"It oughta be fine so long as we stick close to the castle."

"I'm getting cold," said Hermione.

That's cheap."

"But I really am getting cold."

Harry was too. The breeze had picked up and the sun had been veiled by a thin cloud.

Hagrid said, "Do I need to go with you two?"

Harry said, "No, it's fine. Sundial Garden to the Wooden Bridge. That's the closest entrance to here."  
He warmed as he and Hermione resumed, keeping his gaze on the forest as they walked.

A flash of black in the trees.

Harry stopped, his eyes an owl's, and the vague black form resolved into the large black dog he'd met on the snow the day the dementors had come.

He turned into a lion.

Hermione yelled, "Harry, no!"

He leapt, bounding across the open space, sprinting into the trees.

The dog saw him and ran, dodging between trees, but Harry was faster, catching up, racing alongside for a moment, then leaping ahead, sliding through a puddle and facing the dog, forcing it to stop.

Harry turned into himself, standing in the mud beneath the shade of the Forbidden Forest. "Sirius?"

The dog turned into the man he'd seen in Hedgwig's memory. Except his hair was cut unevenly short, and the scraggly beard had been replaced by stubble and a smudge of mud.

"You're Harry."

"We caught Pettigrew. He confessed to everything. The Ministry wants to give you a re-trial."

The man's face was slack in astonishment, and Harry wondered if he should say it again.

"We never would've realized it if your escaping hadn't made us think about the case. And if you hadn't tried to help us against the dementors. It's all in the papers. Everyone thinks you're innocent."

Sirius squatted, head in hands.

"Come with me to Dumbledore's office."

It took Sirius several tries to speak. "Where is Peter?"

"In jail, awaiting trial."

"I was going to kill him."

"Please don't. They'll send you back to Azkaban if you do. And I'd like to have a godfather. And Lupin would like to have his friend back." Harry took a few steps back toward Hogwarts, and Sirius took a few steps after him before stopping.

"Remus is here?"

"Like a security guard. Though he's probably still in his suitcase waiting out an attack of the Shakes. Come on."

Walking slowly toward the castle, Sirius coming hesitantly after him, glancing through the leaves at the sun. "He should be coming out about now."

"How do you figure that?"

"Just a guess. They know Peter won't be held by a normal cell, don't they?"

"Considering you got out of Azkaban, yes. And they know Peter's a rat animagus, and a special kind of animagus."

"You too," said Sirius. "I knew James and Lily were doing something, but that was a shock to see, you turning into the Gryffindor lion that day on the snow."

Coming out of the trees, Harry saw two familiar faces running to the Forest. Hermione, and Severus Snape. Slowing to a walk as they saw Harry and Sirius coming out, Snape's wand ready.

Sirius froze, legs tensed, ready to run.

Harry said, "Please stay. It's alright, I promise."

Sirius took a deep breath and said, "Severus."

"Black."

Sirius looked at the ground. "I kept expecting to see you in Azkaban. Then I heard that you were a double-agent during the war."

"And I hear you weren't a double-agent after all. But you should understand why I have to be cautious. Point to your wand, but do not touch it."

"You're not gonna try anything funny, are you?"

"As much as I might like to, no."

Sirius pointed to a pocket.

Snape flicked his wand, and Sirius's wand flew from the pocket into Snape's other hand. "I won't stun you, though I should. Hands behind your back. Walk in front of me. We're going to Dumbledore. Aitches, behind me." Another flick of Snape's wand, and Sirius's hands were bound.

As they walked to the castle, Snape said, "Running into the Forbidden Forest after an escaped convict. More detentions for you, Potter."

"Detentions?" said Sirius.

"It won't hurt him to spend a few hours copying lines while thinking about how poorly the human brain evaluates small but non-trivial chances of disaster."

Harry said to Hermione, "I can't believe you got Snape."

Hermione said, "I can't believe you ran into the Forbidden Forest after Sirius Black. What was I supposed to do, run after you? Fat lot of help I would be if it turned out he wanted to kill you after all."

"It worked out fine."

"If you do something that has a five percent of killing you and you don't die, that doesn't mean it was safe."

"Pettigrew confessed."

Sirius said, "I have to agree with the girl. That was brave, but stupid."

"But you didn't try to kill me."

"That doesn't make it smart."

"Whatever." It didn't matter. What did matter was his godfather was probably going to be exonerated within a few months. "We're going with you to Dumbledore's office. He's already started the paperwork for your re-trial."

Sirius said, "But thank you. For coming to get me."

Up the wooden bridge, into the empty Sunday corridors.

Sirius said, "Severus. In Azkaban, the memories that tormented me were not always of events that felt bad at the time. I've been wanting to say sorry."

A hitch in Severus stride, his voice flat as he said, "The dementors have unhinged your mind. If you want to blubber, do it later. And not in front of students."

Nearly to the tower that held Dumbledore's office, two figures came around the corner. Lupin, pale and sunken-cheeked, talking to Ron and frowning deeply.

Harry and Hermione ran forward.

Lupin saw Sirius, gaped, his wand appeared in hand, and Harry and Hermione skidded to a halt in front of Sirius, hands up, shouting over each other.

"-It's fine-"

"-wasn't him-"

"-caught Pettigrew-"

"-good guy-"

"-re-trial-"

"-Pettigrew did it-"

"Talk sense!" yelled Lupin.

Snape moved up, more beside Sirius than behind. "A great deal happened while you waited out the... Shakes in your suitcase. Peter Pettigrew has been caught."

"Peter is dead."

"No, he's awaiting trial under very tight watch. He confessed under Veritaserum to being the Potters' true Secret Keeper. It was he who betrayed Lily, not Black. But at this moment Black is still convicted of murder and Death Eatery, and is proceeding with us to the Headmaster's office. Come if you like."

Ron walked past.

Lupin leaned against the wall.

"Peter's alive? But then-"

Black said, "I'm innocent, Remus. It's good to see you."

Lupin ran a hand through his hair. "After all these-Ron, what are you doing?"

Harry whirled.

It happened very quickly.

Ron stood behind Sirius, yelling about Scabbers, his eyes angry and confused. He held the ruby-jeweled hilt of something like a knife, the brown shaft thin as a thick-wire, all point, no edge.

Ron drove it into Sirius's back.

Sirius fell, screaming, the weapon sticking out of his back. Ron fell, hit by spells from Lupin and Snape.

Harry knelt next to Sirius. You were supposed to leave the weapon since it was the perfect shape to stop up the hole it had made.

Lupin yanked it out, hissed, "a sucker," threw it aside, and pointed his wand at the hole in Sirius Black's back.

The weapon clattered, blood red on the stone floor. The blood faded, absorbed into the brown shaft like dirt up a vacuum.

Snape passed a hand over Ron's blank eyes. "He's been confunded."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :::
> 
> I was so damn tempted to have Sirius try to kill or capture Harry in the forest. But I had no idea what would happen next if I did that, and I'd already written the end of the chapter.
> 
> Kids are stupid af in lots of ways and I'm certainly guilty at times of writing the Aitches as older than they are, but the sort of pseudo-philosophical navel gazing during detention with Snape is totally within the capacity of lots of 11 and 12 year-olds. In real life, the conversation would probably take 40 minutes, but ain't nobody got the time to read that. I condensed.
> 
> Still, I worry about that conversation. It was supposed to be fun, disorienting and emotionally charged under the skin, but something toxic to good writing happened; I developed my own crank theory in response to a complicated, much studied issue that I don't understand. Namely, I decided that the liar paradox can be resolved if infinity can be sensibly described as even or odd. (Google says there are some senses in which infinity is even, something to do with ordered pairs and transfinite ordinals, but I don't even know what those are.) I've tried to strain out the resulting self-satisfied Dunning-Kruger taint, but I fear it yet abides.
> 
> You thought I'd gone a bridge too far with Ron's obliviousness, hadn't you?
> 
> Malfoy was originally supposed to be a more important character than he's been thus far, but I kept delaying club sign-ups and as the story's progressed I've become less enchanted with devoting a lot of words to intramural sports. Still, his appearances should pick up.
> 
> Why are you here? To read fiction for free. So do it. Go to Amazon, select the department books, search for Monstrosity, choose the one by JLL, (L, J L) and read the free sample. It's free.
> 
> Grieg's "In the Hall of the Mountain King" is the funnest 2+ minutes in instrumental music, imo.
> 
> To me this chapter was a little uneventful. The next chapter should be even chiller, but the story should pick up from there. Some of my favorite scenes are on the horizon.


	9. Chapter 9: Hair Should be Pink

Chapter 9: Hair Should Be Pink

The Hospital wing was pandemonium with a small cast.

Snape strapping Ron onto a bed, Madam Pomfrey flicking off Sirius's dirty clothing with a wave of her wand, Lupin putting Sirius flat on his stomach, Madam Pomfrey shouting incantations at the hole in Sirius's back, Madam Pomfrey's assistant pouring fluids into what looked surreally like a muggle IV stand.

Dumbledore stared at the weapon. "Life sucking poignard." He cast three spells, said, "Emptied," and it vanished. "He needs a Potestas Vitae Regenerative Draught."

Pomfrey said, "We don't keep that in stock."

Professor Snape said, "Orphiel has some," and dashed out.

Rather than a bandage, Madam Pomfrey placed on Sirius's wound what looked very like a dark greenish-grey snake tightly coiled into a disk the size of a woman's palm. Harry recognized it from his potions book as a snakestone, useful in all manner of healing potions.

"Get back," said Madam Pomfrey, and put her wand on it.

Aitches retreated, and the green and brown flash seemed more shadow than light.

Sirius screamed.

Dumbledore said, "Push it out boy, I know you can." Then Dumbledore was casting spells of his own, working in concert with Madam Pomfrey, Sirius groaning all the while, the snakestone rocking on the wound like the lid on a bubbling pot. It changed color, lightening, and when it had turned yellowish-white, Dumbledore's wand flicked and it vanished. Harry had a glimpse of yellowish-white puss like liquid oozing up before Pomfrey dropped another snakestone on the hole in Sirius.

They went through four before the oozing stopped. Madam Pomfrey patched the hole with a single spell, Lupin turned Sirius onto his back, and Dumbledore rested a hand on Sirius's head. "Sleep now."

It wasn't a spell and he didn't use his wand, but Harry felt the magic in the words. Sirius's eyes closed and his breathing, shallow yet loud, became regular.

Lupin strapped Sirius to the bed.

Dumbledore took a gulp from his flask and wiped sweat from his forehead.

Snape ran in with dark gold liquid in a beaker, and Madam Pomfrey got it down Sirius's throat without waking him. She said, "That's all there is, Severus?"

"I'll start another batch," said Snape, and left quickly as he'd come.

The assistant hooked up the IV to Sirius without any needles. Madam Pomfrey sat. Dumbledore took a breath, cracked his knuckles, and with a spell returned Ron to consciousness.

Ron said, "Why are you standing sideways?"

"You're lying down, Ron."

"Oh." Ron tried to sit up, and didn't get half an inch before the straps stopped him. He raised his head as much as he could and looked down his nose at the straps. "Seat belts. Are we going for a car ride? My dad likes car rides."

"Arthur would, wouldn't he. Maybe we'll go for a car ride later. First, look into my eyes."

Having done it so much to animals, Harry recognized the moment their gazes locked and Ron couldn't look away.

Dumbledore said, "Tell me about Sirius Black."

"He killed Scabbers. Scabbers is my rat, but he's also a wizard who was good friends with Mr. Lupin. And he wanted to kill Harry. Sirius Black, I mean."

"Harry's fine. He's right here. Say hello, Harry."

Harry leaned over and patted Ron's arm. "Hey Ron. I'm fine."

Ron's eyes swiveled slightly, taking Harry in only peripherally, his focus still on Dumbledore's large pupils.

Dumbledore said, "Hermione's here too. Say hello, Hermione."

"Hi Ron. Let's play chess when you're better."

"Better?" said Ron.

Dumbledore said, "You're a little sick, but it's nothing to worry about. Did anyone tell you to kill Sirius Black?"

"I did."

"Anyone else?"

"All the newspapers. Several quills. A notebook. Scabber's bed. Mum. Professor Quirrell's turban. Harry."

Harry shook his head.

Ron continued, "The butter knife. The poking knife. Lots of things."

"Professor Quirrell's turban?" said Dumbledore.

"It snuck into my room last night and whispered secrets to me. Or maybe that was a dream. Yeah. That would have to be

a dream, wouldn't it?"

"Probably so. The poking knife. Where did you get it?"

"Under my pillow. I'd put it there."

"And where did you get it before you put it under your pillow?"

"Under my pillow. I was dreaming that I was asleep, and while I was sleeping I took it from under my pillow."

Dumbledore said, "Hmm. How about the chickens?"

Ron said, "Is the soup ready yet?"

"Chicken soup?"

"Yeah, that's why I had to kill the chickens. It was sad because I'd never done it before, but I wanted chicken soup. Where's the chicken soup?"

"It's almost ready," said Dumbledore. "Who told you to kill chickens for the soup?"

"You did."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Of course. I remember now. Well done. Ron, if all As are Bs and most Bs are Cs, does it follow that at least some As are Cs?"

Ron's head tilted. "I don't think-"

"Clarifus," said Dumbledore, waving his wand.

Ron blinked. His eyes rolled and he slept.

Dumbledore spoke to the air. "Mistmack. Six bowls of your homiest chicken soup, on the double."

Mistmack's voice came from the air. "I hear and obey."

Dumbledore said, "When did Ron first seem off?"

"First day I met him."

Hermione said, "Harry."

"I'm not joking. He's Ron. He lives in his own world of Quidditch, chess and ideas he likes, and just glances up from time to time to see what the rest of us are doing. It makes it hard to tell. But maybe Friday in the library."

Hermione said, "He's the one who solved the puzzle, even if he didn't know what the puzzle was of. Just Ron being Ron. But after Pettigrew had been caught, when we were talking outside the room they interrogated him in, Ron wasn't right."

"I thought he was just joking," said Harry.

"Seemed serious to me."

"You're probably right. And that's after the library anyway."

Dumbledore said, "You were in the library before you came to me?"

"Yes."

"He wasn't Confunded in my office. I would've noticed. And when he seemed strange outside the interrogation room, that was before or after his detention with Shelby Blank?"

"Before," they said together. And new worlds of consideration entered their heads as Dumbledore wrote that in a small notebook.

Harry said, "But the next morning he seemed fine."

Hermione said, "That's right, he did."

Dumbledore said, "Did you talk about Pettigrew or Sirius?"

"A little before breakfast. But mostly we stayed away from it. We talked about clubs."

"You did nothing to activate the confusion. And it probably got worse with time."

Hermione said, "Did Pettigrew confund Ron?"

"That seems likely."

Hermione said, "Or maybe an older student confunded Ron as a prank, and it went bad."

"Less likely, but possible."

"Please don't tell me there's another psycho in this school. We talked to that house-elf, Mistmack. And she said Voldemort, except she called him the Regressor, was in this school."

A flick of Dumbledore's wand, and the sound of Madam Pomfrey checking Sirius's IV became distant, echoey. Dumbledore said, "Mistmack is wise in her way, but excitable, as house-elves are. Don't ignore her, but don't weigh her words too heavily."

Harry said, "Mistmack is a she?"

"You didn't notice the..." Hermione waved her hands over her chest,"protuberances? Six of them."

Dumbledore said, "Mistmack is a breeding female. That aside, I hope you won't repeat what she said to anyone else. It could cause a most unnecessary panic. Promise me."

Harry said, "I promise. Unless there's a really good reason. Like if you've died and Voldemort is taking over Hogwarts."

"Fair enough. Hermione?"

She frowned. "Mistmack said you were playing a game cat of cat and rat with him."

"Miss Granger, throughout my long conflict with Voldemort, there have been many plots and machinations. But they're not games. If I knew where Voldemort was I would not be talking to you two. I would be gathering the most powerful witches and wizards I could trust to gang up on him unfairly and end him mercilessly.

"I am already looking for whoever is responsible, and I will be deeply surprised if the offender is Lord Voldemort. If he is still alive, Hogwarts is the single most dangerous place in the world for him to be. Suggesting that he is here would only cause panic. Hermione, promise me you won't tell any other students this."

"I promise."

"Good."

The sound of a bell.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and six bowls of steaming hot chicken soup appeared on the bedside table, smelling of chicken, rosemary and thyme. "Lupin, Poppy, eat up. Aitches too. Ron's will be hot whenever he wakes."

Harry and Hermione removed themselves to a table with space to not be knocking elbows with Dumbledore.

They worried about Ron and Sirius, ate their soup, and the door burst open. Percy ran in, Fred and George each a step behind. "Is Ron alright?"

Dumbledore sucked a noodle up pursed lip and said, "Sit down, Mr. Weasleys, and calm down."

They paced before Ron's bed.

Dumbledore said, "He's been confunded. The student who did it, if it was a student, will likely be expelled once caught.I've broken the spell, but it takes time for the deeply Confunded mind to return to proper order."

"Likely?" said Percy.

"It's hard to imagine what circumstances might extenuate, but sometimes, reality provides where my imagination fails."

"But-"

"If you wish to complain about a decision I probably won't make in response to information yet unknown, wait until tomorrow."

Fred said, "He'll be alright though?"

"He'll be back after Christmas. A stay at Saint Mungo's will set him right as rain."

All three brothers jerked.

"It happened at school, so the school will pay of course. We could do no less."

Weeks? Harry had been assuming Ron would be fine in a few days.

Percy said, "And Sirius Black?"

"Your brother will not have a man's life on his hands, if that's what you're asking. The Confundus Charm being what it is, that would be true even if Sirius died. Which he won't, though his stay in Saint Mungo's will last weeks longer than Ron's and full recovery will take months."

George said, "Where's our mum?"

"Returning from a sweep of the Forbidden Forest with Moody. I've called her back, and I'll tell her why the moment she's here."

The brothers settled into chairs around Ron's bed, and Harry set down the spoon. Eating while the brothers kept vigil around Ron felt like wearing red to a funeral. He caught Hermione's eye and motioned toward the door.

They got up. Harry was almost out the door when he realized Hermione wasn't behind him. She was speaking softly to the Weasley brothers, giving them little hugs. George said something that brought a brief smile to all their faces.

Harry thought he should go over too, but didn't know what he'd say or do.

After a last pat to Percy's shoulder, Hermione left with Harry.

#  
#

On entering the Gryffindor common room, Harry and Hermione collapsed onto the first free couch cushions they saw.

And they were mobbed by the other Gryffindors, who had seen the Weasley brothers called for, heard that something had happened to Ron, and something to Sirius Black, and wanted to know what.

They told the other Gryffindors what had happened, minus Mistmack and Voldemort, all the Gryffindors listening carefully. The consensus was that Pettigrew had confunded Ron at some point, and this was the last gasp of the whole Pettigrew saga. Word had even come in that there wouldn't be any older wizards sleeping in the dormitory anymore.

A third-year asked, "But what does Pettigrew have against chickens?"

Alice Bell, a seventh-year prefect, said, "It's not strange to have a random delusion come out of a big, complicated, powerful Confundus Charm like that."

They wanted to know about Sirius Black, and Harry said he'd seemed tired and sad and looked like someone who'd gone camping and not brought enough food.

They key information gained, the older students shushed the others, and Harry stared unfocused at the fire crackling in the hearth. He had two hours of homework ahead of him, and he wasn't doing any of it. Not any of it. Not any of it.

Neville went around the common room, still asking if anyone had seen his toad. Carole Funk was looking for hers too.

Hermione said, "Homework."

Harry made a sound like a creaking gate.

"We have to do it."

Alice Bell approached with a form. "I know this isn't the best time, but I suppose you're going home for Christmas."

Hermione said, "Sorry Harry. I feel bad, but-"

"We already talked about this. I'll miss you, but you'll be back two weeks later. Go home."

She signed the form to go home, and Harry signed it to stay at Hogwarts.

Alice said, "Harry, are you sure? You don't miss your Aunt and Uncle?"

Harry said, "They're going on a cruise over Christmas. They'd been planning for months before I ever got the letter."

"You'll probably be the only first-year to stay. I'll have to clear it with McGonagall."

McGonagall had been to the Dursleys. "She'll clear it."

Alice left, and Harry thought about how the Dursleys had been displeased when he'd gotten bad marks, but even more displeased in a different way when he'd gotten good ones.

He screamed at the ceiling, stood, and wondered where his bag was. He was wearing his bag. "Can I borrow a music box? Ben, can I borrow your music box? Please."

"Sure."

The music box was about the same size and shape as Ron's chess clock. It knew all the music, and when you pressed the button it played whatever music suited your mood. Harry swung the dial to 'motivational' and pressed it.

Electric guitar, a man screaming in the background, so loud some of the other students jumped.

"Set it to private," yelled Alice Bell.

He pressed the button that made it so only he could hear.

Hermione slapped the button so she could hear too.

His quill kept tearing little holes in the parchment, but he didn't care. They seemed representative of where his mind was at.

"Potter. Potter. Potter. Harry Potter."

Harry didn't hear.

A touch on his shoulder got his attention, and he needed five seconds to process that the person grabbing him was Professor McGonagall.

"Potter, Granger, you're doing homework?"

"It's due tomorrow."

McGonagall said, "Not it isn't. You have no homework due tomorrow. You have none due this week. In some classes it may just be extensions, but in my class at least, this homework is for you null and void. It does not count toward your grade. Don't do it, you're not allowed to, I'm talking to you there, Miss Granger."

McGonagall continued, "You don't have detention tomorrow. Or class either. You're not allowed to go. Both of you."

"We'll fall behind," said Hermione.

"You're already ahead. This last week, this whole year, I'm sure has been traumatic for you both, and I'm arranging for sessions with a counselor."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and scooted against the back of his chair hard enough to tip it slightly.

"Mr. Potter, I assure you that, however muggle counselors might be, wizarding counselors are quite skilled."

"The counselors are fine. It's what the other students say. Is that different here?"

"There may be a few who bother you, but I assure you that the students of Hogwarts as a whole will think there's nothing amiss with a pair of students who watched their friend be confunded into almost killing a man see a counselor."

Quick perusal of stereotypes found an objection that might dissuade. "It's fine for Hermione, but if word leaks out that Harry Potter is seeing a counselor it'll be on The Daily Prophet's front page."

"You were there together, so you ought to be counseled together for at least some of it. And Potter, has it occurred to you that seeing a counselor might help Hermione, and your objection is keeping her from it?"

His mouth dropped. That hadn't occurred to him.

"But I'll arrange for something else."

Harry said, "It's fine."

"No. The goal isn't to stress you further. We'll talk about it later. Put that homework away, and go to bed early, and sleep in."

When McGonagall had left, Hermione said, "Counselors?"

Whenever he'd done anything to make the teacher call home, whether it was acting out or just something 'weird,' his Aunt and Uncle had told the teacher he was troubled, and then it hadn't been long before he was sent to the counselor.

Sometimes Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had even been preemptive, talking about him at open-house or parent-teacher conferences, ruining him in the eyes of teachers before he'd even done anything.

Except it hadn't worked with Ms. Chamelin. She'd said, "Look kid, I don't give a screw, simplify this fraction."

Harry said, "Nothing really. I got called in a couple times when strange things happened due to unintentional magic."

"Harry. You've told me too much to quite believe that."

"I don't want to talk about it tonight."

"Next time, say that first. I haven't lied to you once."

The silence hung, uncomfortable, till they made their goodnights.

#

#

Harry woke the next morning around 11, stroked Hedgwig a little, and went to the common room. Hermione was already there, also in her pajamas, and rubbing sleep from her eyes.

They played a card game, talked a bit, and Hermione said, "Christmas presents. That's coming up. We should go to the school store and see what they have."

Harry said, "There's a catalog so you can order what they don't have." He'd gotten a few books there. "What do you want?"

"A music box."

"Same."

"We each ought to get something for Ron, or we could go in together on something expensive, and something small for all the other first-year Gryffindors, and for the Gryffindor prefects, and something for all our teachers. Just a card, and something that costs a couple knuts. Something bigger for McGonagall since she's Head of House. Should we get something for Lupin? Or maybe just you?"

Harry said, "That's great, but let's not do it today. We were ordered to relax."

Hermione said, "After lunch, we should visit Ron in the hospital wing. We should get him flowers."  
"He won't care about the flowers. He's Ron. Relax, I know it's hard, but relax. Let's play another hand."

The Weasley twins came in through the portrait hole. They had the day off too, and had already been to see Ron, though Ron had slept the whole time. They played a hand together.

"Where's Percy?" said Hermione.

George said, "He likes walking. Probably on his tenth circuit of the castle by now."

After changing, they went to the Great Hall for lunch. Harry had been half expecting Malfoy to mock them for being so delicate they had to miss class, but Malfoy was busy complaining to Snape about going home for Christmas.

"It's not fair," said Malfoy. "Potter's going to stay at school and practice, you know he will. When I come back he'll be ahead of me."

Snape said, "Very commendable, but your parents want you home for Christmas, and that's that. Write to your father if you don't like it."

"But-"

"That's enough Draco. You're already testing my patience by bothering me at meal. Get to your seat."

Instead, Draco went to Sally Su and offered to do an interview for the school paper like Potter had, and she laughed him off.

Harry grinned while stuffing his face, made hungry by having skipped breakfast, and Hermione said they could use it to shut Malfoy up if he talked about 'that thing' again.

Percy, Fred and George planned to see Ron again later, so after lunch Harry and Hermione went themselves to the Hospital Wing, and stopped in the doorway.

A tenth of the Hospital Wing's floor space was being taken up by what looked like a natural hot spring. The steam from it was fogging the windows, and Sirius Black floated face down in it.

"He's not drowning?" said Harry.

Mrs. Weasley, who was sitting at Ron's bedside, said, "No dearies. Just sleeping. It's a healing spring. He can breathe the water in all he likes. I'd hop in too, good for my back, but the boys won't let me."

The boys were the black man who'd come before with Fudge, and Mr. Lupin, who looked as if he could stand a dip in the spring himself.

Ron was sleeping, so Harry and Hermione went to Lupin.

"Are you feeling better?" said Harry.

"Just like recovering from a cold. Say hello to Mr. Shacklebolt."

"Hello," said Harry.

Shacklebolt shook his hand. "Harry." Then Hermione's hand. "And you're Hermione Granger?"

She said, "Someone told you Harry Potter is friends with a girl named Hermione Granger."

"No. Someone told me there's a first-year muggle-born girl at Hogwarts who cast an incorporeal Patronus, and her name is Hermione Granger.

Hermione blushed, till Shacklebolt said, "The name of Lily Evans Potter was even invoked. But yes, it was mentioned that she and Harry Potter are attached at the hip."That put Hermione off for some reason, and they sat at Ron's bedside. Mrs. Weasley shook Ron's shoulder.

That put Hermione off for some reason, and they sat at Ron's bedside. Mrs. Weasley shook Ron's shoulder.

"You don't have to wake him."

"He'll want to see you."

Ron blinked, sat up, and stared at his hands.

"Hey Ron," said Harry.

Ron stared at his hands.

Hermione said, "Everyone's worried about you."

Still nothing.

Mrs. Weasley said, "He needs time. They're moving him to Saint Mungo's tonight. Sirius too."

At the words 'Saint Mungo's,' Ron's head snapped up and his mouth started. "It's really cool really can't wait to go to Saint Mungo's I saw Dumbledore setting up this spring but the spring in Saint Mungo's was imported from the old healing springs of Bath, they took the best one which is super cool, has lots of calcium and sulfate. Better than that I hear they might get that the Platonic Healing Spring on loan from Bangladesh. If they do I really hope they let me splash in it."

Mrs. Weasley said, "Ron honey, it's not for mental maladies."

"Maybe if I stub my toe really bad. Really, really bad. On a dark magic crack in the sidewalk. It's the Platonic Hotspring, it's worth it."

Madam Pomfrey's assistant clucked. "He should be improving, but this is worse than the funk."

Mrs. Weasley said, "Don't worry. This is how my Ron is supposed to be."

Ron said, "Platonic objects are wicked cool. Like, imagine a ball. It's 3-D, and every point on it should be equidistant to the center. That's what a ball is. But no matter how hard you try, it won't be perfect. You can always measure a little more precisely, find an imperfection. Fix the imperfection, measure more precisely, find a smaller imperfection. A real object is never perfect. Every ball we've ever made is really just something 'close enough to being a ball that we gave up and called it a ball.' And wow. Are you guys actually listening to me?"

Harry said, "It's hardly been a day, but I kind of missed this."

"Cool. So even though there isn't a real object that's a perfect ball, we know what a ball is. It exists as an abstraction. So you summon the Abstract Object from, like, Abstraction Land, except we call it Platonic space, and then you have a truly, truly perfect ball. The Platonic Ball. The only one, which can be really useful. Maybe not with balls, but, for example, we got so we understood broomsticks well enough to summon the Platonic Broomstick, which is actually better than the best possible broomstick that could really be made-it's the abstract ideal of a broomstick. To be clear, it's not 'infinitely good' or anything like that. It's the best possible if there were no such thing as technical or practical difficulties, so it's maybe not quite as cool as it sounds like. Anyway, the Platonic Broomstick goes faster than light if you want, but not back in time and the broomstick companies were forced to sign a contract where they have to take turns studying it so there won't be a monopoly. That's why the Nimbus series is a step forward, they figured something out from studying the Platonic Broomstick, and they patented it."

Ron took a drink of water. "There's tons of them. The Platonic Wand: that's been lost or destroyed and the Hash with it. It'll take a randomly long number of moments to get a new Hash, so basically forever, we can't resummon it, Platonic Tea Kettle, the Platonic Quill, the Platonic Philosopher's Stone, that's in Britain actually, Platonic handbag, you can put a world in it, Platonic Invisibility Cloak, that's been lost or Hash-Destroyed. Some of them have been deemed unsafe and Hash-Destroyed on purpose actually, like the Platonic Edged-Weapon and the Platonic Water Cooler. The Platonic Hat is in Derbyshire, I'm on the waiting list to try it on, it always looks good and your ears never get cold."

Harry did stop listening eventually, but didn't feel right openly ignoring Ron like he usually did, so he was a bit bored till Ron trailed off mid-sentence.

Hermione said, "Are you alright?"

"No." Ron shivered." Everything looks scary again. I know I'm being stupid because of the after effects of being Confunded so badly, but do you think we can trust it? The air. It's like a diamond, all clear and sparkly, it could just decide one day in the middle of our lungs to start being solid like a diamond."

"No," said an old but very firm voice. "The air would have to become very, very cold."

The ancient white-haired woman who entered was noticeably taller than a house-elf. Face wrinkled like a dried peach, wearing a brightly patterned coat and silk socks and wood sandals. Professor Orphiel, who taught Advanced Potions and was rarely at the High Table during meals. Harry mostly saw her walking slowly through the hallways, her steps so smooth they seemed like a slow motion glide, hands clasped behind her back, reminding him of a water bird.

Ron said, "What if someone put a giant needle on the equator to get energy like the earth is a giant flywheel and the earth stopped spinning and we were on the side facing away from the sun. It would get cold."

Professor Orphiel's finger flattened the end of his nose, and Ron looked cross-eyed at it. "Little baby, if the earth stops spinning, we'll just start it up again."

With Ron still staring at the end of his nose, Professor Orphiel went to the edge of the spa. "And how is young Sirius?"  
Sirius flipped over without any movement on his part, still sleeping. He could've passed for dead, but looked less like a half-finished taxidermy job than before.

Madam Pomfrey's Assistant said, "Professor Orphi-" but stopped, thinking better of it.

Lupin said, "He shouldn't be disturbed."

"Healing always was your second worst subject, so if you're a Master of it now, you must be nearly a polymagus. Congratulations."

"I'm not-I've improved at healings, but-"

"Good. Be quiet. Sirius, wake up."

Sirius slept.

Her voice turned sharper. "Sirius Orion Black, you've got a major report on Sluffle Draughts due tomorrow and you haven't written a word of it."

Sirius's eyes popped open and he flailed in the water. "Wha, I-" he stopped, taking in where he was.

"Got your heart going, didn't it," said Professor Orphiel. "It's one of the most common nightmares. Everyone has it, years and years after finishing school. Ten years in Azkaban, nightmares every night, did you have that nightmare even once?"

Shaking his head looked to be an effort.

"You ought to be sleeping, but your godson has the wiggles. I expect he'll be running off to play hopscotch with light beams soon and you're being transferred tonight."

"I don't need-"

"Need has nothing to do with it. Godson, come."

Harry knelt at the edge of the spring. Sirius stretched out his hand, and Harry took it, and did most of the holding. It felt as if there was no muscle in the hand. Just skin over bone.

Sirius said, "You look like James."

"Thank you."

"But you have your mother's eyes."

He nodded, unsure what to say.

Sirius must have been unsure what to say too, because they were silent until Sirius found the question adults always asked of students. "How's school going?"

"It's good. I'm in the practice room a lot. But Professor McGonagall gave us the day off."

"McGonagall is still here? Good teacher. She was Head of House way back when I was a student."

"Wow." It wasn't wow. It was about fifteen years.

"And Snape is a Professor now? How's he?"

"Mean sometimes. But afterward I always wonder if he's being mean for a reason. Like Lupin, but more."

Sirius's eyes widened. "Lupin's mean?"

"Not exactly. Just a little..." He couldn't describe it.

Lupin said, "It's unaccountable, Padfoot, but I've developed a forbidding atmosphere."

Harry and Sirius talked a little more about the trivialities of school, and Sirius fell back to sleep.

Harry stood. What had he been expecting? An instant connection? The sudden forming of a family bond? To somehow, magically, have never lived in a cupboard?

His hand was wet from holding Sirius's hand, and he did not want to wipe it. The man floating in the hot spring had spent ten years in prison for a crime he hadn't committed, had escaped it to keep safe a godson who didn't remember him, had camped in the woods during winter while hiding from dementors, and when it had seemed like the nightmare was finally over, he'd been nearly killed by a Confunded eleven-year-old with a Dark Magic knife.

Harry had missed the chance to say something important because it had felt awkward.

Harry said, "Mr. Lupin, what would Sirius Black like for Christmas?"

Lupin startled, then laughed, more genuinely happy than Harry seen him before. "I'll talk with him later. But he could do with a card, and a nice wool sweater, a memory snifter, or a dream catcher. We'll go to the school store, and I'll help you pick something out."

"When people are in the hospital, muggles often send cards and flowers. Is that-"

"Different types of flowers, often, but yes, wizards do the same. If you'll come with me to the student store I'll help you arrange it."

#

They resumed their normal schedule on Tuesday. Percy was still quiet, but the Fred and George serenaded Harry with a song about how he was the first man alive to make 'Ask my mum,' sound cool. The Daily Prophet had an edited version of their interview with The Hogwarts Herald on the front page.

He'd forgotten about that, and snatched it up eagerly. He'd thought up the bit about his mother beforehand and had thought it would be cool, but his jaw clenched as he read the piece. "Hermione, they took you out."

"No, I have a line." She pointed. The one where she'd compared their ages to the other first-years.

"Having just that one line makes you sound like some weird Harry Potter fangirl who memorizes random factoids. And see, this bit about Dumbledore putting the troll to sleep, instead of writing what you said they summarize it, and it looks like I'm the one who said it."

"You said a lot of it."

"Half of it."

"I don't know why you're angry. You're Harry Potter. You're a celebrity. The school paper is one matter, but of course The Daily Prophet would prefer 'An Interview With Harry Potter' to 'An Interview with Harry Potter and his Muggle-Born Friend."

"They shouldn't." He crumpled the paper.

On the way to Defense Class, Hermione said, "I'm glad the twins seemed fine."

"I guess. They'll be better tomorrow."

"Better?"

Harry said, "Weren't they really straining and pretending even today? They didn't laugh much and their shoulders were tight."

"They were?"

"Weren't they?" Harry began to wonder if he'd felt it wrong.

When they walked into Defense class, Malfoy confused him further by saying, "Not holding hands?"

A few Slytherins laughed, and Harry frowned, trying to work out how that related to either Ron or the interview. He and Hermione tugged on each other's arms sometimes, but Harry didn't think they'd ever held hands.

"Granger, I hear you rode him like a bucking broomstick." More laughter. Hermione sat, but Harry stood, staring at Malfoy.

"What is he..."

Hermione pulled on his arm, making him sit.

Malfoy said, "See, holding hands," and began to sing, "Harry and Hermione, sitting in a tree, K I S-"

Hermione said, "You know that's a muggle song."

"No it isn't."

"I've heard it at muggle schools, and there aren't any wizard children leaving Hogwarts to spread it there. You got that from muggle-borns, guaranteed. But continue, Draco. It's a little weird, but if you want to throw the class a concert, I won't stop you."

"Just saying, Granger, where's your saddle? Potter, did she dig in with spurs?"

Harry asked Hermione, "This is about when you rode me?"

Even the Gryffindors laughed, and Hermione hit his shoulder. "Don't say it like that."

"But-"

"Shhh. Later."

Malfoy said, "It's good though, you better get busy making kids before the crazy red-head kills you."

Quirrell glanced at his watch, stood up, and said "Mr. Malfoy, I'll have to talk to Ms. Blank about your detention schedule and see when you can fit me in. I'm thinking three for that remark. Now quiet in the back. Pass in your homework."

Harry watched other students pass in homework, feeling odd.

Quirrell strolled the room. "Who remembers what we talked about last class? I'm always forgetting these things. Parvati?"

"Chizpurfles."

Quirrell snapped his fingers. "That was it. Chizpurfles. How do I get rid of them and why do I want to? Goyle?"

"Ummmmmmm."

"No, we don't meditate. We first quarantine them. How? Finnegan?"

Class felt longer than normal. When it finally ended, Hermione hurried out, and Harry followed.

Harry said, "What were they talking about?"

"It's like you're making up for Ron not being here. Weren't you friends with any girls at your muggle school?"

"No." He hadn't been friends with anyone really, except for fourth grade when he'd gotten along with Corey.

"Riding someone can mean something else, sort of."

"What?"

Hermione whispered in his ear, "I think it's sex."

"Oh." That explained it. "But we weren't even positioned that way when you rode me."

She pinched him. "Don't say it like that."

"Don't pinch me."

"Sorry."

He took a deep breath, simplified some fractions in his head, and by the end of the day his fingernails had left deep marks in his palms. Though the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs didn't have the same bite, their other classes passed with different versions of the same jibes about Ron and being ridden by Hermione, and his old standbys for dealing with bullies and being teased wouldn't be safe to try at Hogwarts.

Even George joined in on it at lunch, suggesting that if they were still supposed to relax, they might go on a nice relaxing ride through the woods."

"We'll have to wait it out," said Hermione.

Harry thought they'd have to kill it, but didn't say so.

They parted when classes were over for the day and it was time for Harry to see Hagrid. The big man looked long into

Harry's mind, a silence that lasted minutes, then said only, "Don't be cruel, don't hurt anyone, don't break too many rules, and learn to unwind," before giving a lesson on teaching animals many-stepped procedures. Harry taught a crow to open the door for Fang and close it once Fang had left.

Coming back from the session, Harry saw Hermione at the end of a corridor. She waved for him to follow and turned the corner.

When he turned it, she was at the end of the next corridor, and she waved again for him to follow.

"Hermione! Wait up!" He broke into a jog, but when he turned the corner she was as far as before.

She yelled from the end of the hall, "Hurry up," lengthening her strides, her walk somehow faster than his run, up two staircases to the third floor, laughing. Harry wondered if they were playing tag.

He was getting out of breath, but Hermione must've been too, because he was catching up. She entered an empty classroom next to the banned corridor, a classroom with theater seating, and ran down the steps to the front of the room.

Harry stopped halfway down the steps.

She faced away from him, unmoving, yet her clothing roiled like it was in the wind.

The door shut and the lock shicked.

Harry drew his wand.

The figure turned.

Harry screamed, stepped back, caught his heel on a step, and fell.

The other Harry smiled. His face, his eyes, his hair, a perfect match to what he saw in the mirror except it didn't follow his moves.

The other Harry hadn't taken out a wand.

The other Harry could change appearance.

The other Harry wasn't smiling like Dudley burning beetles with a magnifying glass. More like Mrs. Figg smiling while a kitten ran from its tail.

Dumbledore had promised him another tutor.

Harry stood, hiding the trembling in his knees, brushed himself off, though of course there wasn't any dust to brush off, and said, "Those clothes being too big hide it, but you're a little taller than me, aren't you?"

The other Harry laughed a free, full-bellied laugh that Harry was sure he'd never made, "Well spotted. It's hard to be so small." The voice sounded how Harry knew he sounded.

The other Harry changed, hair lengthening, features sharpening, developing a little curve to the chest, but the same eyes, the same face with sharper features.

Reminding himself that Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, Harry took a step forward and shook her hand. "Hello Harriet. This is even creepier."

That laugh again, and he or she or whatever shook his hand. "Quite the kid."

The hand he was shaking grew, and the girl did too, features changing, hair turning bright pink, a woman about Shelby's age standing before him. "Wotcher Harry, call me Tonks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :::
> 
> Maybe I'm in a mood, but this chapter disappoints me. Like a party popper that doesn't pop. But it was almost worse.
> 
> I wrote a big scene where Professor Orphiel plays counselor to Aitches by taking them to the cupboard under her stairs where she keeps the dreams people have given up on, like being happy or becoming space sailors, and Aitches have to encourage them & send them back into the universe to in order to weight the universe's probabilities toward such dreams becoming reality. It was based on the Langston Hughes poem "Dream Deferred," and as I write this, I'm no longer wondering why the scene sucked.
> 
> Ammonite fossils were reputed to have healing properties in many different cultures. They look like snakes coiled on themselves, and lots of cultures associated snakes with healing. I assume those facts are related. "Snakestone" is the most common traditional English name for ammonite fossils. I haven't noticed them in Potterverse.
> 
> Pretty much every culture attributes healing powers to hot springs, presumably because people in pretty much every culture have jumped into a hot spring and noticed their backs felt a lot better after.
> 
> I've taught, and whenever I think about Harry Potter, I think about how the workload of the core-class Professors must be downright inhumane even after you assume magic helps. So, Advanced and Beginning. That's been built in since the opening feast and has been mentioned multiple times, but now it starts to become significant.
> 
> I wrote a book called Monstrosity. Give it a try. Go to Amazon, select the books department, type in Monstrosity, and select the one by JLL (L, J L).
> 
> I talked to my mom today, and she thought reading Monstrosity was really stressful. She was reading it on the Kindle app on her phone, which she'd never done before, and she thought the "how much longer will this take you" time estimate at the bottom was a countdown clock till she lost access to the book.
> 
> I thought the "really chill" chapter would be just one chapter, but it seems the chill will extend one, maybe two chapters longer. I'm hopeful that they'll be among the best chapters though.


	10. Harry Potter and the Polymagus Chapter 10: End of Term

Chapter 10: Miscellania

Tonks was the metamorphmagus tutor Dumbledore had promised him weeks ago. She put Harry through his paces, and shrugged when he fell below her expectations.

He felt comfortable lengthening his hair and controlling its shape, though she told him he was slow. Color was harder. She changed her hair from pink to purple to black and back to pink in just a few seconds, but it took five minutes for Harry to get his hair mostly red, and black hairs still ran through it, and the red wasn't the same red all over.

She tried him on eyes, and the only part he changed the color of was the part that was supposed to be white. She tried him on changing skin tone, and he got freckles on the end of his nose.

Tonks said, "Why'd you practice so little? Most metamorphmagi get a kick from it."

"I was basically muggle-born, so I had to keep it secret." Uncle Vernon had caught him at it once, and it hadn't been good.

"You're at Hogwarts now, so play, once you're good with color, we'll work on form. It's not just disguise. There's a lot of fun to be had." She grew cat ears to demonstrate.

Harry grinned, and grew lion ears.

Tonks dropped her quill. "You said you haven't experimented much."

"Animals are easier, and this is useful for hearing."

Tonks said, "It shouldn't be. It should just be like cupping your hands around your ears."

Harry said, "That's what I meant. I was wondering if you really could learn to hear like a lion, but no?"

"Practically no. Function changes only insofar as form changes. That's a law of metamorphmagery. That's why it sounds posh. In order to hear like a lion, you'd have to have a complete understanding of a lion's hearing, and visualize all the little itty bitty bits inside."

"Can metamorphmagi who are also animagi change in animal form?"

"Try it," said Tonks.

He turned into a lion and looked into the mirror. Oliver Wood had said his mane looked like a bad haircut, but that had been kind. His mane looked like the scraggly bank of brown pubic hair sprouting under Neville's underwear.

The mane was easier to grow out than his own hair had been, and he turned it the deep reddish-gold of the lion on Gryffindor banners.

He saw her expression in the mirror.

Tonks said, "Kid. I told you to try so you'd find out yourself. Only the original body is plastic. What you just did is impossible. She grinned like he was the funnest toy she'd found in years and said, "What the hell are you?"

Harry turned into himself. He'd been glib enough to cover up for the comment about using the lion ears to hear, and he'd been so relieved he'd let another secret fall out of his pocket. But as always, it was nice to see the surprise when a secret hit the ground.

"I'm Harry Potter."

#

#

He told the real Hermione about it on the way to detention, and she told him she'd signed up for dagarary club because of what Snape had said about being slow.

A house-elf appeared in the passage, and Harry jumped.

For three reasons. First, the way it'd appeared out of nowhere, with a flash and a bang. Second, he'd never seen one in the corridors before. Third, he'd never seen a house-elf in nice black slacks and a black button shirt, a gold hoop in its ear.

"Mistress Orphiel will see you now," said the house-elf.

Hermione said, "We have detention."

"With the Headmaster or your Head of House?"

"No," said Harry. "Professor Snape."

"Then Mistress Orphiel will see you now."

The house-elf walked, and Aitches followed.

Hermione said, "Didn't you just apparate? It's impossible for wizards to apparate in Hogwarts." That had been talked about in the common room during the Sirius situation.

"I am not a wizard," said the house-elf, and nothing else till they reached Professor Orphiel's office.

Harry stuck his head in the door and said, "We have a detention with Professor Snape. If we're la-"

Professor Orphiel said, "Consider your detentions canceled for the week. You'll be with me instead. I'll send Snape a note."

The house-elf cleared his throat, Professor Orphiel said, "Do as you like," and the house-elf disapparated.

"Come in. Sit."

The Professor sat at her desk, a short sofa before it. Smoke rose from a censer, smelling of old books, concrete, cut grass and a goose down pillow like Harry slept on every night in the dorms. Harry relaxed, the scent, redolent of all his safe place, easing the tension in his back.

"That's a strange house-elf," said Hermione.

"Ever since young Albus became Headmaster, Hogwarts has had a standing policy that any house-elf who asks to be freed would be freed. Cedarknot asked. I employ him now."

"Young Albus?" said Harry.

Professor Orphiel said, "I taught the Headmaster charms when he was boy. However great and grey-haired he's become, he was still once a trying boy whose bottom I beat with a paddle."

Even as relaxed at the scent had made him, Harry tensed.

Professor Orphiel said, "I do prefer the modern methods. I helped set them in place."

Hermione said, "You taught Charms? You teach potions now."

"I have taught every core class at this school, and no few of the electives. I've even served as school counselor, but enough. Sit."

Harry sat, wedging himself against the arm of the sofa so Hermione had space.

Professor Orphiel asked about their favorite classes, what they thought of the school, asked what they smelled from the censer (Hermione smelled cinnamon cookies in the oven and old books) and asked Hermione what riding a lion was like.

"We don't talk about that," Hermione said.

Professor Orphiel laughed. "Do something unusual once, it's scandalous. Do it twice, and you're cracked. Do it a hundred times, it's just who you are and no one thinks twice."

Hermione said, "I'm not riding Harry to class every morning."

"Think about whether that's what I meant. But first, think of the troll."

At the word, Harry shivered.

Professor Orphiel said, "Starting at shadows. Chills run down your spine whenever the word 'troll' is said. When you're in a room by yourself, you feel it behind you. You look, it isn't there. A minute later you look again, no matter how stupid you know it is."

Harry and Hermione nodded.

"Close your eyes, and imagine that night."

How big it had been, its vast teeth, somewhat like a human's, somewhat like a pig's, it had tried to kill him, he'd thought it might.

Professor Orphiel said, "You see a single image. The worst moment of it all."

The troll distorted, strangely lit, as it had looked as he transformed to lion, his eyes halfway in between.

"Pati reveles."said Professor Orphiel.

A death of image, a sensation of grabbing a hundred different hand holds with a hundred different arms, tracking how the troll was spread through his head like butter over bread, filling the cranny that was the sense of darkness, the fear of danger, the idea of dying, a memory of stubbing his toe, the memory of the time Uncle Vernon had spanked him very hard, but then Uncle Vernon's hand had swelled purple, and Uncle Vernon had become scared and angry, and Harry hadn't understand what was happening, but he'd understood that the next time, no matter what, Uncle Vernon's hand couldn't swell, and it hadn't, but Uncle Vernon hadn't ever spanked him again either.

The troll had gotten into all of it, and didn't belong.

Professor Orphiel said, "Find every place where the memory is that it shouldn't be. Gather them to your chest like laundry warm from the dryer."

Bullies, and loud noises. Clubs. Cutting with his lion claws. The dungeon where it had happened, which he hadn't been to since. Footsteps in the dark. The smell of latrines and bad cheese. Avoiding parties—yes, he'd become afraid of avoiding parties. October 31st.

Professor Orphiel said, "It's gathered into a lump at the front of your mind."

Like a rock pressing against his skull.

"Pati Meue," said Professor Orphiel.

Pressure at the edge of his eyes. Moisture on his cheeks. His first thought was tears, but tears didn't stick on your hands like something you needed a napkin for. They weren't black like motor oil and yellow like the filling of lemon meringue pie or snot when he was sick, and they didn't smell like sweat and piss.

Running out Hermione's eyes and down her cheeks, the very same.

Professor Orphiel gave them each a wet towel to wipe their faces with.

Professor Orphiel said, "You'll find you're better. You'll be in the dark, you'll hear a strange sound, you'll fumble for the fear and it won't be there. Like checking your wrist for the time when you've left your watch at home."

As Orphiel spoke, Harry realized that the bob to his head, the shiftiness to his eyes, the ever alertness, the readiness to view the harmless as dangerous, wasn't there anymore.

"The troll remains a frightening memory, as it should, but we drain the excess. And that was quite enough for one day. Look at the clock. This took longer than you thought. You must get to bed, and I must check on Quirinus for Albus. We'll resume tomorrow, and start on dementors."

#

#

The week passed. Harry had one more session with Tonks and Hagrid both. They had sessions with Professor Orphiel every night, and they prepped for the End of Term Exams.

The Fall Term Exams weren't nearly as big of a deal as the End of Year Exams, but that didn't stop Hermione from re-reading her books and lecture notes with a speed Harry could match if he didn't worry about comprehension. Then she went to the practice room and repeated and repeated spells she'd long mastered.

"You know you're going to be in first anyway," said Harry.

"I'm not very fast at casting."

"And they already told us that won't be part of the scoring unless we're excessively slow, and you're not."

Hermione said, "They say speed won't be part of the scoring, but if one student does it nice and promptly, and the next needs a moment, that'll change the scoring."

Harry did his own studying. First place on the first-year List belonged to Hermione, but anything less than second for Harry would be embarrassing. It shouldn't be hard. He didn't see many other students studying hard. The school was too busy buzzing with anticipation for the year's first Quidditch match, which had been postponed due to the Sirius Black situation. Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw. It would be on Saturday, and half of magical Britain, supposedly, would come in through Hogsmeade.

Harry made an effort not to think of it. The detentions with Snape resumed on Saturday, and the Saturday detention was scheduled at the same time as the Quidditch match. He had asked Snape if he wouldn't like to re-schedule it, and Snape had said no, so he'd asked Professor McGonagall to use her authority as Head of House, and she'd said that rescheduling a detention so students could watch a Quidditch match missed the point of detention.

But there was something to look forward to on Saturday. Owing to a scheduling conflict with Professor Orphiel's session, he and Hermione had missed the first meeting for new members of the dagarary club, but early Saturday morning they'd have 'half a foolabout,' and Harry wasn't sure that was except he'd get to flash people.

#

#

When Harry woke early Saturday, snowflakes were falling. He put on his snow clothes, figuring he could take them off if the meeting was moved inside. A mitten on his offhand, and a fingerless glove on his wand hand.

He came down the stairs into the common room with Ben and Dean, who'd also joined the club, and met up with Hermione, who was waiting with Tatiana Crush, Fay Dunbar and Fei-Fei Kim.

A little under thirty Gryffindors gathered in the common room, weighted toward younger students. Older students tended to drop the club for more practical ones, and seventh years tended to drop clubs entirely.

But Alice Bell, who, in addition to being a seventh-year Prefect, was in three different clubs, led them out.

Dawn had started at some distant horizon, but between the clouds and the light snow Harry couldn't tell which one. Professor Pratchett put a very bright light up a hundred feet in the air, illuminating a field that didn't look like it normally did, even aside from the thin but thickening layer of snow. The ground was strewn with logs and barrels. There were several muggle cars, three cut in half, and a large playset at each end.

Professors Quirrell and Pratchett were there, along with Lupin, Shelby, and a TA Harry didn't recognize. And near on to a hundred Hogwarts students.

The club officers introduced themselves, said there would be a short scrimmage to greet the new members, and explained the rules.

Purple vs orange, which made sense since neither was a house color. Hermione was given two orange armbands, and Harry was given to purple armbands, and he secreted himself behind half of a car, keeping his wand hand warm in a pocket as he waited.

When the whistle blew, Harry poked his head out and was flashed by a fifth-year.

The scrimmage took twenty minutes, but all the first-years were flashed in hardly five, which Harry guessed was the point of it.

They ran the scrimmage again, same teams, and the second time Harry hid behind a log that was near another log, and coordinated with Tatiana Crush and an older Gryffindor named Keith Bonk. They waited, and flashed a third-year Gryffindor who went past too recklessly, and at Bonk's direction attacked an even older student, who blocked, and flashed them both, but was flashed from behind by Bonk.

With the snow falling more heavily, the Club officers announced the second scrimmage was the last, and all the logs, cars and playsets disappeared into the earth. Heads were counted, Harry rejoined Hermione, and they walked to the main set of courts, which weren't getting snowed on at all despite being outside. There wasn't any invisible dome he could make out, but all the weather managed to happen outside the courts, which answered the question of whether the snow would bother the Quidditch match; a bunch of wizards wouldn't let it.

Harry ate two biscuits. It was still hours before he normally had breakfast on a Saturday, but he usually spent those hours sleeping, not running through the snow.

Shelby and Lupin gave a fast and furious display on the court that had bleacher seating, putting so much curve into some of their attacks that it was occasionally hard to tell whose attack was whose.

Shelby won 8-6. Then the seventh and six years had a mini-tournament. Then it was the fifth and fourth years' turn.

While that was happening, Malfoy, who Harry hadn't realized was in the club, but of course he would be, told Tatiana that he was arranging extensive Christmas presents for Professor Snape, his Head of House, so if she could just write a Christmas wish and signature into his little black notebook, Malfoy would get it transferred to the commemorative silver plate destined for Professor Snape, along with the best wishes of all the other first-years.

When Malfoy asked Harry, Harry said, "I did you a big favor once already-the broomstick lesson, remember-and you haven't exactly acted like you owe me since."

Malfoy said, "The one I fight with is Ron. Sure, I make fun of Hermione riding you," Malfoy laughed, "but it's not my fault that's irresistible. Now, do you want to be the only first-year who doesn't wish Professor Snape a Merry Christmas?"

Harry ransacked his brain for something nice to say, and finally wrote

Thank you for always pushing me,

Merry Christmas.

"Sign," said Malfoy, so Harry signed.

Hermione wrote something similar.

The first-years tournament was played on needle courts, which Harry hadn't done before. 79 feet, just a tad longer than a muggle tennis court, but narrow, with very small circles you couldn't take a full step in. It made it more about rate and rotating colors, blocks were less important and counters more, and flashing someone off the draw just wasn't going to happen across that much distance.

Harry surprised himself by flashing a Ravenclaw girl off the draw, (she didn't position her blocks right, then panicked and used a blue block instead of red) and moved easily through pool play, (it was just first to five, win by two) and he watched Hermione fall in the quarters to a Hufflepuff boy whose name he couldn't remember, and he beat the Hufflepuff 5-3

Harry faced Malfoy in the final.

The white-haired Slytherin had pinged through the draw somehow, but with more trouble than Harry had, looking sluggish and slow, circles under his eyes.

Harry's blue tore through Malfoy's red and struck a green fArther down, which was extinguished a beat later by Harry's red. Malfoy elected to counter with blue instead of blocking, and missed.

1-0, Harry.

2-0, Harry, in a nearly identical point.

Malfoy blocked, Harry put up flashes at a higher rate, and it was 3-0, Harry.

The fourth point, Malfoy didn't notice the green Harry slipped behind a red, and it was 4-0, Harry. He wondered how Malfoy had made it through the draw playing so badly. Hermione and the Hufflepuff boy both would've won.

Malfoy took a moment, stepped outside his circle, took the mitten off his off hand, and stuck that hand in his front pocket, taking a pose Harry would've thought was silly even for someone who wasn't down quadruple championship point.

The court beeped, and Malfoy's aim on his red was off. Except it was off enough that when it clipped Harry's red, Harry's red was knocked off target, and Malfoy's was knocked on.

4-1. Harry had seen older students do that, but Malfoy must've done it by accident.

Except Malfoy did it again. 4-2.

The older students, who'd been watching the first-year tournament with a mixture of laughter and benign inattention, focused in.

Malfoy got a blue to make a fancy double curve. 4-3. Harry took a moment, but when he came back, Malfoy beat him with sheer rate. 4-4.

The ninth point was tighter, Harry depending less on his wand for defense than on his ability to bob and weave, and it seemed he might win before Malfoy's green attack glanced off the bottom of Harry's green block and hit Harry.

4-5, Malfoy, and Harry was down match point.

It was a bad point. Harry pointed his wand straight forward, sent a continuous stream of straight attacks, and was hit almost immediately by a green counter. 4-6, Malfoy's win. The Slytherins put up a cheer.

Malfoy dropped his pose and shook Harry's hand at the center of the court. "Good match, Potter."

Harry congratulated Malfoy, trying to smile.

Shelby said, "Malfoy. That's the best I've seen you play."

Malfoy accepted the praise from her and others, saying he couldn't pull them off consistently, but he'd been working on advanced moves.

The meeting ended with promises that the next foolabout would be longer, and as it broke up, a couple of older girls asked Hermione whether she'd ride her boyfriend to breakfast.

Hermione fumed. He thought she might use some real foul language, like "Shut up," or "darn it," but instead she grabbed Harry arm and dragged Harry over to the other first-year Gryffindor girls, none of whom he spoke to often.

Hermione said, "Turn into a lion."

"Huh?"

Hermione said, "Do it a hundred times, and it's just who you are. Harry, turn into a lion." She leaned in close and whispered, "Bigger than normal. With the nice mane."

"I don't think-"

"Trust me. We can end this right here. I think."

Harry turned into a lion with a nice mane. Students turned to look, pointing him out to others, a halt in the exodus.

Hermione said, "Fei-Fei, would you like to ride a lion?"

"I, um..."

"It's better than riding a pony, I swear. Get on." She cast the Feather-light Charm on Fei-Fei, pushed her half-unwillingly onto Harry's back, and Fei-Fei took tight hold of his mane, digging her knees into his ribs.

Hermione whispered in his ear, "Take her for a ride. It has to look fun."

Harry adjusted his ribs a bit so she'd get a better hold, moved a little fat onto his back to pad his spine, and they took off, crashing through a snow bank, Fei-Fei pulling on the mane and shrieking. They jumped across a long depression, Harry aiming for the speed where Fei-Fei's shrieks were more about fun than fear, reassuring himself that between the snow and the Feather-light Charm, she wouldn't be hurt even if she fell. Fei-Fei laughed and yelped on his back, the crowd of students watching.

He trotted back to Hermione, Fei-Fei got off, red-faced and smiling, and Hermione asked Fay Dunbar if she'd like to try.

Fay hesitated, then nodded, and Hermione cast the Feather-light charm on her.

Alice Bell said, "Hey! First-year! No using spells without proper supervision."

Hermione said, "I'm sorry, I wanted to make sure it's safe."

Alice picked up Fay by the elbow like she was a paperback book. "You did a good job of it, and it's not even a first-year spell. Alright, I'll supervise."

Fay got on Harry's back and he romped around the snow while Fay whooped, and Harry romped back over. Tatiana took a turn, then Alice pulled rank and rode Harry side-saddle before flipping around, legs around his back, casting a couple spells on herself, and saying "Full speed."

Harry went to what he thought a real lion's full speed would be, though the Nemean lion had another couple gears, and Alice laughed and hung on as Harry cleared thirty feet in one jump.

Ben took a turn, then an older Ravenclaw boy, an older Hufflepuff girl, the Hufflepuff boy he'd beat in the semis, and Eloise Midgen was the first early riser who wasn't in dagarary club to wander over from making snow angels and request a ride.

The number of students asking for rides grew more quickly than the number of students he'd given rides to, and eventually Harry turned back into himself, claiming hunger and exhaustion.

On the way to the Great Hall, Harry said, "How does it feel to no longer be, among your many titles, 'the girl who rode Harry Potter?'"

"It might be a sad if I weren't now 'the girl who gets to ride a lion almost whenever she wants.' People are going to ask you-oh gosh, people are going to bug you for rides aren't they?"

Harry said, "Someone will approach me with a saddle. But earnestly, probably. It'll be better."

Hermione spoke quickly. "I wasn't even thinking about you. This'll end the other line of teasing, but now you're 'the boy who turns into a lion and gives people rides,' and that might be worse."

"It's fine. You know how much I love having to show off."

#

#

After lunch, detention. The dungeon was colder than it had been last time, the dictionary was waiting on the desk, and Snape welcomed them by saying, "You're late."

"We're two minutes early."

"Those who aren't early are late, and two minutes are too few to count. You must be at least five minutes early to not be late. Perhaps I'll hold you five minutes after our time is up. Now write."

They wrote, and after five minutes, Snape said, "I assume you've been too lazy to do your homework."

"Homework?" said Harry.

"From your last detention. Visiting house-elves, and pondering why or whether 'this statement is true' is so much simple than 'this statement is false."

"I visited the house-elves."

"And you haven't thought about the question?"

"I've been busy. You know I've been busy."

"Opening a lion ride service?"

Harry's face turned red as he tried to think of a reply. Snape had heard about that already?

"Giving interviews to the school paper?"

"That was before the detention."

"Reading about yourself in The Daily Prophet."

"I have to know what people are saying about me." Harry's voice was rising. He ignored Hermione's hand on his shoulder.

"Obsessed with image, quick to anger. Familiar, somehow. On top of it, complaining that life's too hard."

"I had tutoring with Hagrid and Tonks, visiting Ron-"

"Tonks?" said Snape.

"Nothing."

Snape said, "Nymphadora Tonks?"

Nymphadora?

"Gryffindor girl, stayed for an Eighth in Defense Against the Dark Arts, turns her hair different colors, mostly pink. Is that her?"

Harry said nothing.

"I'm going to look inside your head."

Harry readied his occlumency barriers.

A brief scrabbling in his head, and Snape said, with some surprise, "You're attempting occlumency. Very, very badly, but occlumency nonetheless. And you're a metamorphmagus?

Snape looked at the ceiling. "It makes sense. Your father would want to, and your mother would be able to. It does run in the Potter side, through the Blacks, but I doubt you came by it naturally. They selected the trait. It's a wonder you lived among muggles. Most metamorphmagi transform in the crib, wiggling the power around like any other limb."

Harry said nothing. Snape smiled. "Ah, but you didn't start doing it at all till a couple years ago. They probably set it so it wouldn't manifest till you were older. So it could be a secret. Clever, and suited to that paranoid time. But even now, with the war long over, Professor Dumbledore's having you keep it hidden. I assume you think it's a shame you can't show it off?"

"I like having secrets," said Harry, concerned that he didn't feel Snape anymore but Snape was still reading his mind.

"You like spending secrets, rather. The looks you normally have, the eye color, they're natural to you?"

Harry said nothing.

"Beginning occlumens often suppose that anger can block legilimency. It doesn't. Anger doesn't hide, it projects. Granger is more suited to the mental arts. And yes, those looks are your natural looks. You're hardly skilled enough at metamorphmagery to change them. Really, what has Hagrid been doing with you in that hut if you're still so bad at protecting your mind?"

He shut his eyes. Hagrid had talked on and on about being calm. If he could be calm, maybe he could kick Snape out.  
Hermione said, "They've been focusing on charismancy. He's very talented at it."

That was true. He could be the greatest charismancer in the world someday. That was true, wasn't it? One of the greatest at least. There weren't many.

As he calmed, he felt the buzz of Snape in his mind.

"As you detect, I retreat. Now write. Aim for the Bs. And I want an answer to that question about truth."

He didn't think Professors were supposed to enter your mind without permission. Hagrid had talked about the rules.

Maybe he could complain to Dumbledore.

Snape said, "Write, or stay longer."

Apple of Discord. Apple of Iduna. Apple of Sodom. Lots of Apples. Aqua vitae.

They did better than before at synchronizing their writing, and when time was up, Snape said, "We can make it a double-session, and get one of those other sessions out of the way."

Hermione shrugged at Harry and said, "I don't have anything pressing to do."

The other option was going out to try and watch the end of the Quidditch match, and he didn't want his first Quidditch match to be one he maybe just caught the end of.

After a restroom break, they resumed, and Snape again asked Harry about using the word true in the liar paradox, and Harry sighed, thought about it, said that 'this lie is true,' was the same as 'this sentence is a lie.'

Snape nodded minimally, and Harry heard students walking through the hall outside. The Quidditch match had ended.

Harry was almost to the Bs when he noticed a long line of spiders crawling along the edge of the floor, stretching from the front of the classroom to the crack under the door. He poked Hermione, pointed, and they watched.

Snape said, "You're not writing."

Hermione said, "Why do spiders flee?"

"A riddle, Granger?"

"Look."

Snape walked to the back of the room, spotted the spiders, and knelt by the wall, watching. Small spiders, large spiders, jumping spiders and web builders. Prey and predator, marching together, making a faint scuttling like rain on dry leaves.

Just louder than the scuttling, barely distinguishable from it, a faint voice said,"...kill..."

The spiders ran, no longer an orderly march, crawling over each other, the line a wave rushing for the crack under the door, Phil rushing so far into Harry's ear that it bothered his hearing on that side.

"Come ... come to me... Let me rip you... Let me tear..."

The voice was the taste of biting an apple and finding a razor blade.

"Hermione, listen."

"So hungry, crunchy bits, warm hearts, warm, warm warm."

Snape said, "What do you hear?"

He thought about not telling.

Hermione said, "Do you hear the voice from when Mrs. Norris was killed?"

Snape said, "I'm going to look in your mind again. Don't fight."

That feeling like feathers brushing his mind.

The voice came again, quieter, receding. "Let me kill you... let me eat you... let me..."and it was gone.

Harry said, "You heard it?"

"Through your ears. If you made it up, you don't know that you are." Snape stood in the classroom's center, torn between chasing the sound and going to his desk.

He strode to his desk and snatched away a felt cloth, revealing a crystal ball. Snape stared into it, running his fingers over it, squinting, muttering spells.

"What was it?" said Hermione.

"Nothing you two ought to concern yourselves with. Perhaps an old Potter family ghast."

"But-"

"I'll walk you to your dorms. Detention is over."

#

#

The common room was full of excited conversation about Hufflepuff's win, and whether Ravenclaw's apparently weak side would be a three and out this season, which did nothing to improve Harry's mood, but did cover his and Hermione's first argument, which they had at a whisper.

It started with a conversation about what the voice might be and whether they had to worry about it, and moved to Harry asking Hermione about Snape having said she was better at mind magic, and Hermione saying Snape had only said that to anger him, and he was the one who'd been doing charismancy before ever getting a lesson in it.

That should've averted an argument, but from there, they got to more about Snape, and Hermione having fetched Snape when Harry had gone after Sirius.

"I shouldn't have gone into the forest, but Hermione, you don't get it. He's my godfather. If he's exonerated, I might not have to go back to the Dursleys."

Hermione said, "Duh. I know. I was the first one to ask whether he'd get custody or not, remember? Look. Running to him like that when he would've found out safely in a few days anyway was a bad idea, but that's not what really bothers me. You told me that if you saw him you wouldn't approach, and would run if he approached. Five minutes later you saw him in the Forbidden Forest, and went after him like a shot."

"I'll apologize for that if you apologize for getting Snape."

"No, I'm not apologizing, because it was the right choice. He was the first person I could find."

"Wasn't Hagrid closer?"

"Hagrid doesn't have a wand."

"Still, why even go for help? We knew he wasn't going to get hurt me."

"Harry, when the whole world thinks a man is trying to kill you, you don't decide he's totally a safe a few days later because you made up a complicated theory about what really happened and a man you know is a liar said things that confirmed it."

"Pettigrew was under Veritaserum."

"And I know you were listening when the older students talked about there being a hundred ways around that. The man we caught could've been someone Sirius captured, implanted false memories into, and transformed in order to make everyone think he was innocent."

"That doesn't make any sense. Scabbers was with the Weasleys for years."

"That's not the point. You promised me you'd do something, then a moment later you did the opposite."

"Alright. I'm sorry for the running into the forest after telling you I wouldn't."

"Good."

He waited. "Well."

"Well what?"

"It's your turn to apologize."

"I didn't do anything wrong."

Harry glared and pulled at his hair, bringing a firm protest from Phil. "Let's just forget it."

#

#

The next morning was awkward, but neither of them brought it up and it was swiftly buried beneath homework resuming, Potions homework that had to be made up (every teacher but Snape just voided it), detentions going by, and the whole school getting into gear for Fall exams, taking place the first three days of the week following the coming week.

The Exams came, each class having a mixture of written tests and spell demonstrations (even History of Magic had a few spells to do tracking citations and proper care of primary sources) and Harry smiled wider as the exams went by. There were a couple questions he wasn't sure about, a few short essays he looked sideways at, and a couple spells where he nervously rushed and needed a second try to stick, and he dwelt on that, but overall it looked very good. Even his Potions practical went well.

Following the last exam there was a party in the common room that Harry wasn't sure how to participate in, then two days of fun and games as TAs guzzled coffee and marked tests, culminating in the End of Term Feast and the Posting of the Lists.

The Posting of the Lists was what Harry was really looking forward to. The top 10 students for each year were listed. Number one earned 50 house points. Number two, 45 house points, number 3, 40 House points, and so on, till the tenth place student, who earned 5 house points.

When they were finally Posted, just before the start of the End of Term Feast, Harry ran past those for higher years to the first-year list.

In first place, as expected, Hermione Granger. He felt a stab of disappointment at not pulling off the upset, but looked eagerly a line down, expecting to see his own name next to the 2.

Padma Patil.

Harry was sixth.

"Sixth?" said Harry.

Hermione said, "Good job Harry."

"How is it a good job? I'm sixth!"

"Out of 79."

"78, with Ron in the hospital. How am I sixth?"

"I'm sure you were second or third at spells, and would've been better if speed counted. But you probably lost ground on the writtens. Handwriting shouldn't matter, but no one likes to squint, and then, everything else we've done this year counted too, and some of your essays..."

"What about my essays?" He hadn't wanted her to actually answer.  
"Some of your essays could be better proofread, and maybe you should make a format first instead of just writing whatever you think of. But Harry, you're sixth. That's really good. You're the only Gryffindor boy on the List."

"I guess." Technically, he was on track to become a prefect in his fifth year.

There weren't scores, but there was one number next to first place, showing the gap between first and second.

The gap between Hermione and Padma Patil was 128 points, and the biggest gap in any of the other years was 43.

Harry said, "How did you win by so much?"

Hermione said, "During the spell demonstrations I showed them some spells we haven't worked on in class yet, and I got extra credit."

Harry had done that too. Mostly the spell variations that were in the textbook but that they hadn't gone over in class, but nothing he'd done had been a tenth so impressive as, for example, the incorporeal form of the Patronus Charm.

Harry swallowed his frustration and took a closer look at the Lists. Percy was third among fifth-years. Alice Bell was seventh among seventh-years. There was a small but noticeable between the number of Gryffindors and Slytherins on the Lists and the number of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

The House known for intelligence and the House known for hard work did well on tests, Harry supposed. What was more galling was that after slacking off all year, skipping out on some homework, and getting poor marks on some quizzes Harry had glimpsed, Malfoy had finished ninth among first-years. He must've aced the exams to bump up that high. It heightened the looming feeling, born on the dagarary courts, that Draco Malfoy was getting ahead of him.

Percy clapped them both on the shoulder. "75 points for Gryffindor between the of you. Well done." He directed the next at Hermione alone. "A 128 point gap. Did you get the top score in every class, little Miss Polymagus?"

She steepled her index fingers. "I don't know. Maybe. Potions and Herbology."

Tatiana and Fei-Fei congratulated her on being first. Then Professor McGonagall swept them both into a side hug.

"As your Head of House, congratulations and well done. First and sixth, even with all the distractions. Harry." She squeezed his shoulder. "Your parents would be proud. And Hermione. I'm not sure even Lily Evans Potter ever managed quite as big a lead on second, though of course she had Severus Snape to contend with. Fantastic."

McGonagall tightened the hug, released them, and left smiling widely, while Harry felt like sinking into the floor.

He should've asked Professor Quirrell if occlumency counted to for extra in Defense Against the Dark Arts. It ought to. And charismancy should count for extra somewhere. Probably Defense Against the Dark Arts too. He'd used it to help catch a Death Eater after all. And all his transformation abilities should be extra in Transfiguration. Harry said, "We'd be a lot closer if they wouldn't only test us at what you're better at."

Hermione said, "I know you're disappointed, but be angry at me for it."

Harry said, "I'm not angry. It just isn't fair. All my best talents are hidden."

"It isn't?" said Hermione. "You're right, it isn't fair. You know what else isn't? No matter how well I do I'm always just 'Harry Potter's best friend.' And when I do to much better than you for that to make sense, they compare me to your mother instead."

Her cheeks were red, her mouth was tight, and that only made him angrier. "What's wrong with that? She was great."

"She was Head Girl. And she did important research. I know. But there are other Head Girls. One every year. Maybe some of it's because she was a muggle-born girl, but a lot's because I'm your friend and she's your mom, and everything I do is somehow part of what you do."

Harry said, "No one ever compares me to her except to say my eyes are the same color."

He hadn't know those words would sound so bitter when they started forming at the front of his mouth. Hermione froze, and it should've been funny that they each hated what the other was jealous of, but only felt tense and sad.

Fred Weasley said, "Now kiss and make up" and bonked their heads together just hard enough to hurt.

A lot could've been said and a lot would've been said, but Fred Weasley had just bonked their heads together and angst didn't fit.

So Harry sheepishly said sorry, Hermione said it too, and they ate too much at the feast.

#

#

Lacking much else to do, Harry went with the other students to the train depot, gave about fifty hugs goodbye, a few to older students whose names he couldn't quite remember, and watched all his friends but the one who was in the hospital pull away.

He walked back to Hogwarts with Hagrid, who mentioned that three thestrals were missing, and Harry wondered what thestrals were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :::
> 
> The chill continues. Christmas should be fun, and I expect to have a proper cliffhanger for the ending.
> 
> Canonically, there weren't (as I recall) End of Fall Term Exams, and there certainly weren't Lists of the 10 students with the best grades in each year, earning House points accordingly.
> 
> Canonically, the size of the Hogwarts student body is small, but tends to be whatever suits Rowling in a particular scene. I'm jealous of that sort of ability to draw the reader into a dream, but I decided that each House in each year has about twenty students, which meant I needed to make new students.
> 
> Tatiana Crush is a boss name for an extra, like a retail worker driving a Lamborghini, and Fei-Fei is a Chinese name, and Kim is a Korean name, so Fei-Fei Kim probably has an interesting family history.
> 
> Canonically, Lily was 21 when she died. But this story needs her and James to have had great accomplishments, and making them just one year older made me feel a lot better about that. Physicists and mathematicians often do their best work at young age, so I don't think 22 is toooo much of a stretch.
> 
> Maybe the better move would've been to age her another five to ten years, more how she appears in the movies, but ah well. That would've meant I had to significantly age Lupin, Snape and Sirius also, which would've made me wonder about aging Tonks and maybe others.
> 
> The first title I thought of for this story was "Harry Potter And The Girl Who Was Better."
> 
> I wrote a book called Monstrosity. It's good. You should check it out. If you found yourself in a conflict you didn't understand, would you assume the side you ought to help was the one wearing white?
> 
> Is Cedarknot the house-elf going to be an important character? Idk. But there'll be more with house-elves and I wanted to throw another one in the pot.


	11. Harry Potter and the Polymagus Chapter 11: Visions and Gifts

Chapter 11: Visions and Gifts

Harry's plan was to spend Christmas vacation in the practice room, on the dagarary court, and studying serious books on magic. Those plans derailed the very first day of vacation. He stayed up till five in the morning reading a book called Year with the Yeti that would've been exciting even if it hadn't been based on the author's real-life adventures. Then he slept in till past two in the afternoon. He took his time at a late lunch, read the comics section of The Daily Prophet going back a week, had dinner, and stayed in the bath until well after he'd gotten all pruney.

At night he felt guilty over having gone a whole day without doing anything halfway productive, but he got over his guilt when he did it again the next day.

The third day, he felt an itch to do magic and spent an hour before lunch in the practice room, working on telekinesis charms and transfiguration.

Counting Harry, only twenty-seven of the 140 odd Gryffindors had stayed, and 18 of them were fifth or seventh-year students staying to study for their OWLs and NEWTs. Katie Bell, a second year, who had stayed to spend Christmas with her older sister, was the youngest after Harry.

Between sips of eggnog, Alphonse Gurruh, the sixth-year muggle-born, said he missed his younger siblings, and he kicked Harry and Katie Bell at dagarary after lunch. When that was getting tiresome, Katie said she was supposed to learn Petrificus Totalus, the Full Body-Bind Curse, and Harry said he wanted to learn it too, which drew a raised eyebrow from Alphonse, but also an offer to let them practice it on him at the practice room.

Harry managed to petrify Alphonse's left side, and Alphonse countered it wordlessly, which was what he was working on, then Katie Bell petrified Harry which was not on the program, and laughed so hard it took her five tries to work the counter charm.

This, Harry decided, was more reasonable than his daydream of stuffing two months of practice into two weeks. He'd study, but mostly he'd play with wands, like how Hagrid had said his dad had turned magic into a game.

Lupin came into the practice room and sat at a chair in the back. Harry waved and sent Lupin a questioning look, and Lupin motioned for him to keep at it.

Harry finally stopped an hour later having successfully cast The Full Body-Bind eleven times in a row, which wizards seemed to think was the number to aim for. He was sweating hard and could use a shower, but it'd been a lot less serious than his practices with Hermione usually were.

Alphonse tried to ruffle his hair, and Harry jerked aside. "Sorry, we were just dodging so much in dagarary."

Lupin motioned him over as Katie and Alphonse left.

Lupin said, "Having fun, Harry?"

He nodded.

"Good." They talked about school, Lupin congratulating Harry on being sixth in the year, and laughing when Harry tried and failed to suppress a grimace. Lupin would be staying; Emmeline Vance and Mrs. Weasley had left after Sirius's capture, but Lupin had signed his contract for the year and didn't have anything better to do, and Dumbledore would rather have extra help than give Lupin a partial buyout, though Lupin would be absent frequently caring for Sirius, whose re-trial wouldn't start until Pettigrew's had concluded, probably sometime in late January to early February.

Alastor Moody was also staying. "The vicious old goat is having more fun swooping in on the advanced Defense classes and harassing the Dueling Club than he ever did training stiff-lipped Auror candidates," Lupin said.

He refused to explain how Sirius had gotten inside Hogwarts ("that's a secret") or what he'd meant weeks ago when saying Sirius Black had had great faults as a teenager. "Now that I know he isn't a villainous murderer, his youthful failures are his to share or not."

He ended Harry's questioning by going to an open stretch of wall and moving a few chairs out of the way. Lupin taught Harry a game a lot like muggle racquetball except the ball was made of magic and you hit it by getting the tip of your wand close enough to it that you could control it.

Harry sweat till his socks were wet, and when his legs started to tremble, Lupin called the game off and took two packages in scarlet wrapping paper out of a pocket much too small to have held them. One was about the size of a muggle disposable camera, but the other would come up past Harry's knees if set on the ground, and was wide and thick as well.

"Christmas presents," said Lupin. "From Sirius and I. But I'll be with Sirius on Christmas day."

Harry didn't know where to put his hands. He wasn't used to getting gifts. "Should I open them now?" So Lupin could see?

Lupin said, "Open them on Christmas with the others. More fun that way. They come with letters. Read the full letter and think a moment before telling people what the presents are." Lupin smiled slightly.

"Sirius got my Christmas present, right?" The memory snifter.

"It's waiting wrapped on the sill of his hospital room."

Harry said, "I got you something too. It's in my room."

Lupin walked with Harry to the Gryffindor dorm and waited outside the portrait as his duties no longer gave him reason to violate the "students only" rule.

Harry came out with a package wrapped in gold paper-Gryffindors tended to wrap in Gryffindor colors-and gave it to Lupin.

"You probably won't like it or you already have one," said Harry. Hidden inside was a bracelet that held your wand, and it didn't matter how long the wand was or how short your arm.

Lupin took it. "Both are possible of the object, but not of the gift." Lupin must've seen Harry's confusion, because he added, "If you get an object you don't want, remember to be happy for the gift, and if you can't manage that, at least look happy.

Harry nodded. He understood about pretending to be happy if he got something he didn't want. Dudley had done it from time to time.

#

#

The few days remaining before Christmas passed easily. He played at magic, read more Lockhart books, and talked with the older students more than he ever had before, even though most of them were busy with studying. With Alice Bell supervising (really, reading a book on a chair by the field) Harry and Katie went out flying and played catch with the quaffle till they got too cold and went inside.

A reporter managed to visit Ron in the hospital and was treated to a long discourse on what Ron had found out about treating victims of the Confundus charm and a lecture on why the Chudley Cannons were lovable because of their hopelessness, not in spite of it. Even edited, Harry couldn't read the interview without smiling.

Christmas day came, and Harry woke early. It was the first Christmas he'd viewed without dread. He had four presents to open under the Christmas tree in the common room. It was traditional, Percy said, for everyone at the dorms over break to open their presents together, though anyone who had an excessive amount was expected to open a portion privately so no one else felt bad.

He was nearly to the door when he spotted a squashy package by his bed. Written on it in big black letters were the words, OPEN THIS PRIVATELY.

Harry's first thought was that he wanted to open it, his second that he wanted to know how it had been put into his room during the night, and his third that it might be a trap from one of the Voldemort sympathizers who supposedly would like to kill him.

He tried the few low-level disillusionment and anti-jinxing spells he knew, and nothing happened, but then, nothing would if the curse on it were hidden by a wizard more competent than a bright first-year.

He thought of getting a prefect or a professor to make sure it was safe before he opened it, but noticed the card on the top of the package.

"Wingardium Leviosa," said Harry, lifting the card up, then needing about five minutes of wand fiddling to get it out of the envelope and open.

He went to owl eyes, and read the card from the other end of the room.

Your father left this in my possession before he died. You're too young to have it, but it's too easy to imagine why Harry Potter might need to disappear. Use it well.

A Very Merry Christmas to you.

Harry used Wingardium Leviosa on a bit of the wrapping, and the wrapping tore. Not much. Whatever was inside was very light. He shook it around till the wrapping tore enough, and the long, shimmering silver cloth fell out.

He held that up with a levitation spell, and it didn't seem special, except for being beautiful and thin and very light. It didn't look dangerous.

He wondered why anyone would send him his dad's old bedsheet, and he grabbed it.

His hand disappeared, and the cloth too.

Harry dropped it, and a silver cloth fell on the floor.

He picked it up, pulled it around himself, and looked in the mirror.

His head floated in the air.

He pulled it over his head, and could more or less see through it, just like looking through any thin, perforated cloth.

"It's an invisibility bedsheet," whispered Harry.

A pounding on the door, Percy's voice. "Harry, it's time for presents."

"Don't come in," he yelled. "I'm naked."

Percy said, "Why? You're supposed to open presents in your nightclothes. It's tradition."

"I forgot. I'm putting my shirt back on. See you in a moment."

He hid the invisibility bedsheet under his pillow, surprised by how small it wadded up, and hurried down the stairs to the common room, wondering who could've gotten it for him. He already had presents from Sirius and Lupin. Maybe a professor? Hagrid? It might be some other friend of his parents entirely, and maybe that friend had asked a school employee to help give it to him. However it had been done, slipping it inside his room at night must've been done with the assistance of Hogwarts staff or students.

Dumbledore, even.

Or, any wizard who had a house-elf could've done it. They could apparate inside Hogwarts.

He sat with the others, cross-legged in front of the tree. Instead of candles, the ends of the branches glowed with a yellow flame that was only ever warm, and some of the ornaments were birds that flew around the room when startled.

Everyone took a present to start, and Harry took the one in bright blue wrapping paper.

The invisibility bedsheet was very nice, but it was a mystery, not a gift. His first real Christmas present ever would be from Hermione Granger.

He wondered what it would be. Music boxes had turned out to be expensive and they'd agreed not to get them for each other, but he'd gotten her one anyway, and he hoped she wouldn't be angry.

Alice said, "Go," and all the students opened at once.

Four books, all of them quite thin. Three of them used-otherwise four books would be too expensive.

Twelve Nights a Year, the first book was called.

By Lily and James Potter.

The book's back said it was about werewolf rights.

The second book was a collection of Lily's papers on Ancestral Curses, the third was a collection of Lily's essays on why muggle-borns didn't weaken magical purity, and the last was an account of a time when Voldemort had placed a curse on a town so water dissolved all the wrong things in your body, and the Ministry's curse breakers were at it for days before Lily and James Potter showed up and took it apart in two hours.

When asked what he'd gotten, he waved a book through the air, too quickly for the words on the cover to be seen, mouthed, "Hermione," while rolling his eyes, because of course Hermione would buy books for presents, and slipped them in his bag.

He didn't want to be opening presents any longer. He wanted to be upstairs reading his new books. Written by his mother. His father hadn't been one for writing. But he'd helped with the werewolf one.

Then he got another present, and didn't recognize the wrapping. The tag said it was from Katie and Alice Bell and Alphonse Gurruh.

He turned to Katie and Alphonse, who were looking at him expectantly. "I'm sorry. I didn't get you presents, I didn't know you'd give me one, Hermione and I got one for Alice because she's a prefect, but-"

"It's fine," said Alphonse, and from his smile it seemed to be. "Aren't you going to open it?"

It was something like a spinning top supporting half a glass ball.

"It's a sneakoscope," said Alice. "Considering everything that's happened, we thought you might have a use for it."

Alice opened her own present from Harry and Hermione. A chocolate frog, three quills, and a card. About what they'd gotten all the prefects.

Really, Hermione was the one who'd done it. Harry had given her a few galleons and said, "Yes," when asked if candy was a good idea.

The next present was from Lupin. He peeled the wrapping, and found what looked like a case for glasses, opened them, found a pair of round lensed spectacles, and stared. He'd worn glasses when he was younger, till Dudley had broken them when he was 9. He'd been thinking about how he was going to get them fixed, wishing desperately that he didn't need glasses, then suddenly he hadn't anymore.

Harry supposed that had been his first magical transformation.

Harry opened the parchment folded at the bottom of the case.

Harry,

These glasses belonged to your father, and your grandfather, and your great-great grandmother, and James didn't know how many greats before. They already belonged to you, so my present is the (extensive) paperwork required to have them released.

The Potters have given the spectacles different names over the years-the Really Nice Glasses, The Very Clear and Excellent Glasses, The Glasses the Very Nice Lady Gave Ancient Gran, (there ought to be an origin story there, but James never found it) and The Glasses of Cheating at Quidditch (James took them off for official matches) but mostly they're called the Potter Glasses.

The spectacles adjust to the wearer's vision. They fit anyone, are nearly unbreakable, don't get wet, don't fall off, and never need cleaning. They adjust to brightness-look at the sun with them and see what happens-clarify details, expand your peripheral vision and zoom in and out as you wish. They see through illusions and make the hidden visible. The bubbly parts at the top outside corners can be used for scrying in the place of a mirror or crystal ball, though James never had much interest in that art. Most of those features, and others you'll discover on your own, require skill to use-have fun learning.

Merry Christmas,

Remus Lupin.

Harry stuck them on. His vision blurred, and when it cleared, was sharper than before, almost like he was using owl eyes except colors were clearer than with human eyes. The Christmas tree, which had just been generally green before, was at least ten distinct shades of green, and the fires and some of the ornaments twinkled with a color that was a lot like green also, but wasn't. His eyes watered, and he looked at the Post Script at the bottom of Lupin's letter.

P.S. The glasses take getting used to. Don't push yourself.

Alice said, "Looking good, Harry. They suit you."

Percy said, "Are those-"

Alice elbowed him and shook her head. "Animagi glasses, Harry? Wear them when you transform, and you won't lose any sense of color."

Harry nodded.

"Most animagi wear them constantly, in case they want to transform. You might do the same."

Harry wondered whether the glasses did that too. It sounded as if they did everything.

Next came Sirius's present, which, unwrapped looked slightly like a machine for making pasta dough. It also had a letter.

So far as I know, this is the world's only paper-maker and divider. James and I based it on something the muggle scientists said. Toss wood in, and two pieces of paper comes out. Boring enough, except the two pieces of paper are only one piece. They're entangled. Whatever you write on one appears on the other. James and I used it for passing notes in class, and used it later in the war. More secure than owls, at least so long as it stays secret.

Pranks and petty rule breaking are good for the soul, but don't cheat.

Merry Christmas, and Thanks for the Flowers

Sirius Black

Harry was offended by the bit about not cheating, but much more awed by the rest.

"It's a paper-maker," he told the others. "Paper's a muggle thing. It doesn't last as long as parchment, it doesn't hold enchantments well, and written incantations tend to burn through it, but it's easier to write on. I miss it. I'll use it for notes."

The writing on both letters was fading, and Harry re-read the descriptions hurriedly before the writing was replaced entirely by standard Christmas wishes.

From Ron, he got a wool sweater, maroon, along with a card that said, I know it's lame my mum did this, but I've been incapacitated, Merry Christmas, I tried helping with the knitting but made a hash of it.

It had a small Gryffindor emblem over the heart, the letters 'HP' monogrammed above it. Very similar to what Percy often wore, except Percy's said, 'PW.'

Percy said, "One of my mother's knit sweaters. You'll find it fits well at a variety of sizes, keeps you comfortable at a variety of temperatures, doesn't snag and hardly gets dirty." Percy passed his wand over it, muttered a few phrases, and looked surprised.

"What?" said Harry.

"It's a very rugged sweater," said Percy, but Harry was hardly listening.

He'd only expected four presents, and there were five, six counting the invisibility bedsheet. Overwhelmed, but warm.

Then Percy gave him a card that had an off hours hall pass. "Single use. Don't make too much trouble with it, and don't tell Fred and George I gave you one."

From Welch Shirby he got a pair of 'wedding rings' addressed to Harry and Hermione. Welch was laughing while Harry opened the box, and laughed louder when Harry threw the wedding rings at him.

When no one was looking, Harry slipped them in his bag, feeling very odd.

He'd never spent any time thinking about how Hermione looked, and though a couple other boys had mentioned it, Harry wasn't sure what a wet dream was except Neville had to change his underwear after, but he and Hermione were very good friends, and in a year or two, when he had hair in new places...

That still wasn't anything like wedding rings.

He shoved them to the bottom of his bag and decided to never ever think about them again.

From Hagrid, he had a note, and it was disorienting to see that, unlike Ron, the man didn't write how he talked.

Merry Christmas, Harry. I was going to get you a present, but Professor Trewalney told me you'd ask me for something shortly after Christmas, and I should wait till then. I'm looking forward to finding out what it is you need.

Trewalney wouldn't tell me that if it didn't matter. Don't start thinking about whatever toy you'd like but didn't get.

Hagrid.

A few of the older students had chipped in on a dream-maker, and they didn't mind at all that he hadn't gotten presents for them. A warm glow had replaced his worry.

Percy said, "Not a bad Christmas, Harry?"

Harry said, "It's the best Christmas ever."

Percy said, "I suppose you've only ever had muggle presents before."

Harry nodded, looking over the Dream Maker. "Usually I get socks. And underwear."

Percy said, "Well, yes. What else?"

Harry gave the Dream Maker a rattle, a vision of a verdant forest washed over him. He didn't notice the edge in Percy's voice. "Last year I got a clothes hanger too. And a new toothbrush."

"Is that normal? For muggles?"

Harry looked up, saw everyone was staring, and came to his senses.

"That's not even close to normal for muggles," said Alphonse Gurruh, who was muggle-born. "Are they very poor, your Aunt and Uncle?"

Harry thought of saying yes, but shook his head.

Alphonse said, "Maybe they don't celebrate Christmas? Different religion?"

The first Christmas he remembered. Dudley getting five action figures and a toy gun. Harry getting socks. Then Dudley getting a truck, hot wheels, a remote control car. Harry getting underwear. Getting angrier and angrier as Dudley got more and more. Screaming his head off as a three-year old, spanked for doing so. Harry getting quieter as the years passed and blended together. Why even make him come into the living room for this? Why make him watch Dudley open all those presents? At the age of eight, with a clean rush of shock, realizing it was a message. 'Dudley is our son, and you're an unwelcome guest. Have socks and underwear, and be grateful.'

Harry said, "For my Aunt and Uncle, raising me was more about duty. That's fine. That's their right. There's nothing wrong with that. I hope you won't mention this to anyone."

Alice Bell touched his forehead, a sensation like a hundred spiders crawling over him. She said, "They literally treated you like a house-elf."

"Hey! Was that legilimency?" It hadn't felt like it. "Don't do it on me."

"It was divination."

"Don't do that either. Besides, everything's fine now. Professor McGonagall made them give me a room and she put furniture in it, I still don't know how."

Alice's voice was distant. "You slept in the cupboard under the stairs. It was small, so you slept with your knees pulled up."

"I told you not to do that!" He was standing and yelling. Bad things happened when you yelled. He shoved his wrist in his mouth to stop himself. Sucked in deep breaths through his nose. "I'm sorry for yelling. But please don't do that." He was crying again. He hadn't cried for years, but lately it happened at the drop of a hat.

Percy said, "It's okay Harry. Alice won't don't do that again, right Alice?"

"Right. Sorry Harry. I won't do it again."

"Would you like a chocolate frog?" said Percy, handing him a chocolate frog box.

They were trying to calm him down, so now was no time to say that he still felt weird eating chocolate frogs. They tried to get away.

Percy said, "You get along with Ron so well, would you like to stay at my house for a few weeks during the summer? You'd have to share a room with Ron, but you're used to that."

"I wouldn't want to be any trouble."

"No trouble at all. I'm sure Mum and Dad would love to have you. But no, you don't have to decide now. I have to talk to Professor Dumbledore first. But think about it."

Even looking at his own feet, his expanded field of vision showed the stares of his house mates. He took the glasses off. "There's no reason to mention this to anyone, right?"

"Of course not," said Alice.

#

#

Harry cheered up as the day went. After breakfast he went to his dorm room and picked up all his presents one by one, examining them minutely, even making a few pieces of paper.

He started the book on werewolf rights. It had been written during the war, and his parents wrote that reason lots of werewolves had been on Voldemort's side was because he'd offered them a low place in a hierarchy, whereas the Ministry didn't offer the werewolves any place at all.

It shouldn't have been interesting, but he was greedy for every word.

When Percy told him it was time for the Christmas feast, he said to go without him, and Percy said Harry had to come.

He left the book. He didn't want to be seen reading it, and it didn't take long to feel happy about going to the Christmas feast.

The food was excellent and plentiful even by Hogwarts standards, and the wizard crackers were nearly another Christmas morning themselves, his favorites being a chess set and a flute that played music when the wind blew through it.

The staff loosened up. Dumbledore changed his wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet, Professor Flitwick laughed so hard at something Hagrid had said he fell out of his chair, and after four glasses of wine, Professor McGonagall turned red, laughed a lot, and turned Professor's Quirrell's turban into a stoat. It ran around the table, took a pear, and, with a sigh, Quirrell turned it back into turban, with a yellow jewel where the half-eaten pear had been, and wrapped it carefully about his head.

Harry didn't notice that Professors Dumbledore, Snape and Trewalney were all behind Quirrell when it happened, nor how carefully they looked at the back of Quirrell's head, nor that all they saw was hair.

His attention was taken by a group of headless ghosts playing something like polo with their heads while Nearly-Headless Nick looked on.

#

#

That night he finished the werewolf book. The next morning he read the short account of his parents' breaking the curse Voldemort had put on a village, (they'd done it not with great power, but with great understanding) and he started on the collection of his mother's papers on Ancestral Curses, and understood little but the introduction, and not all of that.

He went to see Hagrid, who thanked him for the card, candies, and dog treats (for Fang) and looked hard at Harry's new glasses.

"Legilimens," said Hagrid, and Harry hurriedly raised his occlumency shields, ignoring the unexpected way his glasses turned purple. The attack on his mind was weaker than normal. He'd never held Hagrid all the way out before, but this time-no, Hagrid was slipping in.

Hagrid broke the connection. "Those were yer da's," said Hagrid. "They make eye-contact legilimency harder, and combine that with being an occlumens in the first place..."

Harry said, "Will many people recognize them?"

"A few. They look different than when yer father wore them. If anyone does recognize 'em, yeh can truthfully say that they're not, as some of the wilder rumors claim, platonic. Just the result of very rare materials and centuries of enchantment by very skilled wizards and witches. Including some Death Wishes, I'd wager."

After that, they had a very interesting lesson on controlling ants. Harry made progress adjusting their trails, and Hagrid sent him into gales of laughter at the end by getting the ants to do square dancing.

Harry stepped inside the castle and decided it was past time to really explore the place. He hadn't done that the way most other students had. First he'd been so excited to do magic he'd spent all his free-time in the practice room, then he'd been frightened by the troll and Black and the weird whispering, but that all seemed distant now.

Plus, he had to try out the Potter Glasses.

He'd hoped that if he crossed his eyes just right, everything in the school would shimmer with magic, and he would see the forms of the spells in some strange way that would give him a new and profound understanding of magic that would make the impossible easy.

Actually, he saw more details and more distinct shades of the colors than he was used to. True, most of the school had a tint of the color that wasn't green, and from what had more and what had less, he guessed the 'not green' color meant 'magic,' but finding out that ghosts and moving staircases were more magical than the floor wasn't exactly a shock.

Harry settled on the tried and true exploration method of opening door and seeing what was inside.

A swimming pool full of warm water and koi fish. A room filled with white couch cushions where everything floated, like in a spaceship-Harry spent half an hour gliding around it. A room full of racks of talking back scratchers, each insisting it would do the best job. And finally, a room that was locked.

He took a deep breath, and looked around to make sure no one was there. Fred and George had told him that trying to open anything locked was a part of Hogwarts' practical education program, and he actually believed them, but he was pretty sure detention for opening locked doors was part of Hogwarts' academic education program.

"Alohamora," whispered Harry, and the door unlocked.

Several desks turned up on each other, a wastepaper basket, and a long, tall mirror with an ornate frame and strange writing at the top. erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi.

He glanced at it, and did not see an 11 eleven-year-old boy with messy hair.

He saw a tall, masculine, muscular wizard with stubble on his cheeks, a hint of grey in his black hair, and might not have recognized himself if not for the bright green eyes and the lightning bolt scar.

The man in the image was the greatest wizard in the world. Greater than Dumbledore, people said. Greater than Merlin. That wasn't shown, but he knew

Hermione was with him too, all grown up, and they were still best-friends, and she was a great witch too, maybe the second greatest wizard or witch in the world, yet the gap between their powers was vast, and she gazed at him with big eyes full of trust and adulation.

He stared, minutes ticking by without his notice, mesmerized, lost in daydreams of being the best ever, and not by a little. Cure every disease, destroy Voldemort, if Voldemort still really was alive, defeat another great Dark Lord, become master of life and death, give magic to muggles, anything and everything.

It warm, but it made him slightly nauseous, like eating too much candy; he couldn't look away.

After nearly two hours had passed, the words clicked.

I show not your face, but your heart's desire.

Harry collapsed like his strings had been cut.

It was fine to be competitive, Hagrid had said. But was his greatest desire really just to be better than everyone else?

No wonder the Sorting Hat had wanted him in Slytherin.

No. It didn't have to mean the mirror showed you your greatest desire. It could be a random desire. Or whatever desire you were most afraid of. Or it could be a mirror of your desire, a reverse of desire, an 'erised,' or whatever.

Or the mirror lied.

His greatest desire, obviously, must be to meet his parents, to have grown up with them.

'Or maybe,' whispered a small, unwelcome part of him that might have been the germ of integrity, 'having had a family is your second greatest desire.'

Harry ran out of the room.

He wandered around the castle half in a daze, thinking dramatic pre-teen thoughts about morality and what was worth living for, and found himself eventually at the sealed door guarding the Forbidden Third-Floor Corridor.

There was some practical education that couldn't go wrong. He'd seen three seventh-years from the ward breaking elective spend two futile hours on the thing while Professors Flitwick and Pents sat in easy chairs they'd summoned and laughed.

He tried Alohamora, then Finite Incantatem, then Alohamora again, and nothing budged. He felt satisfied. Nothing bad had happened, and he could say he'd at least attempted some petty, harmless rule breaking.

Just for fun, he pulled the magnet out of his expanded bag and tried it on the lock the way he'd so often used used it on locks in the Dursley's house.

The door clicked open a crack. A stink escaped, and a sound of heavy breathing. He slammed the door shut with his shoulder.

That hadn't just happened, had it?

He wasn't surprised when two days later Nearly-Headless Nick floated up to him after lunch and said, "The Headmaster will see you now."

#

#

There were several magnets on Dumbledore's desk, along with several muggle textbooks on magnetism and electricity.

Harry said, "Am I in trouble?"

Dumbledore said, "If I didn't want students messing with the door, I wouldn't have announced it on opening day. Rather, thank you for doing something so interesting. Even great castings can be overthrown by lowly yet novel techniques, and wizards have had very little interest in magnetism. And using the magnet itself as your focus instead of a wand-the muggle-raised do the darnedest things. I've already designed and emplaced a new counter-charm. And thank you for forcing me to look into a fascinating subject. I'll credit you with the original idea when I publish my results."

Harry reflected that Dumbledore worked very, very fast.

Dumbledore said, "But that's not why I called you here. When you were attacked by the dementors, you saw a partial memory. Lord Voldemort killing your mother. I would like to gain access to the full memory. If you're willing. It might be better if we waited. You're still quite y-"

"Will it be hard?" said Harry, then realized he'd interrupted Dumbledore and shut his mouth hard enough his teeth clacked.

"As you're an occlumens and you've surfaced the memory recently, your cooperation would make it extremely easy."

Harry removed his glasses and lowered his occlumency shields from passive to nothing, except around a few particular facts.

"Bring the target memory to the front of your mind."  
Harry nodded. He thought of the fear in the voice that must've been his father's. His mother, hardly older than Shelby or Tonks moving quickly, full of urgency.

"Legilimens," said Dumbledore.

A smile pasted onto a face like an amateurs drawing, shouting, crashing, the memories bundling into a ball.

I have it," said Dumbledore, and something cool pressed against his cheek. His eyes focused. Silver liquid in a glass vial. Dumbledore tipped it into a wide, ornate, dark grey bowl full of water. Harry didn't realize it was made of stone until he touched it.

Dumbledore said, "You shouldn't see this."  
"It's my memory."

"You're much too young."

"I've already seen part of it."

Dumbledore sighed, "I was afraid you'd insist on this. But hiding it from you would only tempt you to attempt legilimency on yourself. Very well."

The bowl floated in the air, and Dumbledore summoned a stool to sit in, so he could bend down the same level as the young boy next to him.

Dumbledore said, "Pay close attention. A natural memory is changeable, unreliable, and short on details. This won't be. We'll both dunk our heads in. Like bobbing for apples. 3, 2, 1, dunk!"

Harry dunked his head into the lukewarm water and saw blue wallpaper through the wooden posts of a crib. Above him, miniature Quidditch players flew around on miniature broomsticks. Stuffed animals spilled out of a wicker hamper in one corner, and a desk of such a pale pink color it nearly passed for white sat in the corner by the door.

A sound like a car crash, a sound like a waterfall, and a man's voice. "Lily! He's here! Get Harry out!"

More crashes, a scream, two more crashes, a shout of Avada Kedavra, and Harry realized Voldemort had brought at least one Death Eater to his parent's house, and the scream had been his father putting paid to one of them.

But Voldemort had killed his father in turn, the fight taking bare seconds.

His mother ran through the door and snatched him into her arms. She tried to apparate and failed-it must be an anti-apparition jinx-dropped him back in the crib, and blew a wall off the side of the house, a sheer drop into the yard. She tugged open the closet, twirled out gripping a broomstick, and a man walked in.

Surrounded by dementors, Voldemort had seemed monstrous, but in the cold light of the pensieve, he was a handsome man with something subtly off about his face.

Lily's back cut Harry's view off.

Complete silence, like when two gunslingers faced each other in an American western movie.

Voldemort said, "Stand aside."

His mother raised her wand.

Both raised their wands, and Harry wondered why the Dark Lord hesitated. When Voldemort spoke again, Harry heard not fear, or even quite nervousness, but certainly caution and maybe reluctance.

"Why would you die for the child? You can just get another one."

Lily cast a spell without incantation. Voldemort batted it aside with the tap of his wand and it blew out another wall.

"Avada Kedavra." said Voldemort.

"Perpello Pacem!"Lily replied, and green light struck her.

Lily fell, and Voldemort stepped over her body. "Perpello Pacem?" The eyebrows twitched, and he squatted by the crib. "What to do with you. Guchi-guchi goo." His fingers flashed as he waved them, and baby Harry stopped crying.

Voldemort covered his face with his hands, then pulled away.

"Peak a boo!"

Baby Harry giggled.

"Peak a boo!

Louder laughter.

"Peak a boo!"

Voldemort laughed too. "I should raise you myself. 'Dark Lord with a baby,' that would turn my life into a love comedy, I'm sure. I can see myself wandering down the market aisles with you in a modified bread basket, dumbfounded by all the baby products, then I'd get help from a kind, beautiful witch who's been hurt badly and thinks she'll never love again."

Voldemort's features were unfused, like corks bobbing in water. Each time Harry saw his face from a different angle, it seemed like a different face.

Voldemort sighed. "But you'd cry, wouldn't you?" He pulled a revolver from his robes, pointed it at Harry's head, and pulled the trigger.

Golden light flashed, left an afterglow of brilliant, impenetrable white, a sound like a hundred rolls of thunder, and a stab of virulent green went straight through his head.

Harry pulled his head out of the pensieve, gasping, fell, and would've cracked his skull on the floor if Dumbledore hadn't caught him with a spell and gently lowered him to the ground.

He was having trouble breathing.

Dumbledore cast a spell, and his breathing slowed.

"Just a calming spell," said Dumbledore. "Would you like something to eat?"

"No," Harry gasped. All he could think of was how brave and sure his father and mother had been, the way Voldemort had said, 'You can just get another one,' how Voldemort had been far stranger than he'd imagined, and for it, even scarier. But the most unexpected bit of it all...

Harry said, "Voldemort used a gun."

"He was muggle-raised. He claimed he used it ritualistically, to indicate that a particular enemy didn't deserve to die like a wizard even, but I believe its primary use to him was to reduce the magical implications of murder when he wanted to. Obviously, that precaution was insufficient to your mother's spell."

His mother's spell. Perpello Pacem

"I don't know the exact nature of the spell, and an incantation and glimpse of the wand movement isn't nearly enough to replicate it, but it was sacrificial. Sacrificial spells are usually thought of as Dark Magic, and most of them are, but those that aren't are its opposite. Your mother invented or found-I would guess invented-a spell that used Voldemort's murdering her as power to place a powerful restriction on Voldemort. Against killing you, I presume.

"I'd wondered if Lily did it instinctively, an act of unplanned, natural magic. But no. She sat at her champagne pink desk in the nook inside the nursery, took out a quill and her favorite books on spell creation, and thought about how to die in a way that would save her child if Voldemort came knocking."

Harry had trouble breathing again.

"It's a shame James didn't live. I suppose what it came down to was that he was downstairs and Lily was upstairs." Professor Dumbledore gave him a paper bag.

"Breathe into that. Go see Professor Orphiel. She'll help."

Harry had to breathe into the plastic bag several times before he could say, "No. I want this."

Dumbledore smiled. "You want to eat your trauma, do you? Such hunger from one so young." The old wizard selected one of two potions from his desk. "Drink this. It'll help with digestion."

Harry downed it one one shot, and his breathing slowed. It tasted of brisk morning in the air and the feeling when he had something hard to do and he knew he could do it, like there were drum beats inside his head."

"Depending on how you're doing in two weeks, I may insist that you see Professor Orphiel to have the wound drained. I'd rather have waited on this till you were older, but needs must when the devil drives. But, please, however you respond, don't do something tiresome in that head of yours like making 'I'm going to kill Voldemort once and for all' your life's purpose. It's not a trustworthy ambition. Any wholesome ambition will force you to oppose him anyway. He's that kind of monster." Dumbledore sighed and popped a lemon drop into his mouth. "I dislike sermonizing, but done properly it cuts down on the Dark Lords, murderers, and everyday churls." A book flew off the shelf and would've hit Harry in the chest if hadn't caught it.

Dumbledore said, "Much interest in moral philosophy?"

Harry shook his head.

"Give it a skim. Lend it to the Weasley boy after; he'll eat it up.

#

#

Harry slept the rest of that day and most of the next lying in bed. "Vacation is supposed to be relaxing," he kept saying to himself, staring into the mirror, making different parts of his body disappear with the invisibility bedsheet.

"Hermione's coming back soon," he'd remind himself. He put a couple pounds of plant material into the papermaker, and paper came out in pairs. He put them in two loose leaf notebooks, one for him, one for Hermione. Whatever he wrote in his notebook would show up in the same page of hers, and vice versa.

He read the first twenty pages of the book Dumbledore had given him, thought it was interesting, actually, closed it, and never opened it again.

Sometimes he practiced, thinking of the grinning man who'd killed his parents.

Sometimes he stared at the wall.

He wondered if he shouldn't have insisted on seeing the memory.

Then the other students came back.

#

#

He met them as they came through the main doors, and gave a hug to Hermione and Ron, wished them a Happy New Year, thanked them for the gifts. He asked Ron if he was alright; Ron said he was.

Descriptions of their respective holidays. Again asking Ron if he was alright, Ron saying he was. A welcome back meal in the Great Hall. A few games. Asking Ron if he was alright, Ron saying he had a hangnail. Then free-time, and Harry was finally able to drag Hermione and Ron into an empty room. Harry cast Calloportus on the door to lock it, then shoved a chair under the knob, Ron and Hermione asking what it was he wanted to show them secretly.

He hadn't been sure at first about showing Ron, but Ron had earned it by solving the Sirius case.

Harry said, "Turn around for a moment."

They faced the wall, Ron grumbling.

Harry wrapped the invisibility bedsheet around himself. "Now turn back around."

"Where'd you go?" said Ron.

"Did you turn into something small?" said Hermione.

"What?" said Ron.

"Nothing."

Harry said, "I'm right here."

"Where?"

"Here."

Hermione stretched out a hand, touched, and jerked her hand back. A natural reaction to waving one's hand through the air and finding an elbow.

Harry let the invisibility bedsheet fall around his shoulders, exposing his head.

Hermione gasped and Ron said, "Is Harry's head actually floating in the air? I'm not confused again?"

Harry winced, and whisked the sheet off, holding it up so they could see. "Sorry Ron, I didn't think of that."

Ron gaped at the bedsheet.

Harry said, "I got an invisibility bedsheet for Christmas."

"An invisibility cloak," corrected Ron, sounding awed.

"It's not a cloak. There aren't any arms," said Harry.

"Cloaks don't have arms," said Ron. "You're thinking of coats."

Hermione said, "I'm going with Harry here. It's perfectly rectangular, there isn't a hood, and nothing to tie it around your neck with. It's not a cloak. Sheet, shroud, tablecloth maybe."

"You can't call it an invisibility tablecloth either," said Ron. "But we're missing the point." He held out his hands, Harry gave it to him, and he wrapped himself in it so only his head and a knee poked out, and looked at himself in the mirror. "It's a really good one too. This is expensive. You got it for Christmas? Who from?"

Harry showed them the card. It was a mystery who'd sent it, but it made a lot more sense to know it was a Potter family heirloom, probably, and had been returned to Harry more than given to him.

The Glasses too. He offered them to Hermione, to keep, saying he could get a lot of the same effects from 'occlumency and my eye stuff,' and she looked horrified and refused.

"You already gave me too nice of a gift," she said. "We agreed not to get each other Music Boxes."

"I know, but then I thought I'd probably use it a lot too, so really, it's a gift to me too, really."

She and Ron both tried on the Potter Glasses, and they talked over the possibilities of the invisibility bedsheet. ("Cloak," said Ron.) It seemed to expand as needed, and could be big enough to cover the three of them. They could, if they liked, sneak around the school after curfew, but why they'd do that was a mystery.

"I wish we'd had this when the troll attacked," said Hermione, and Harry nodded hard enough his head hurt.

They were on the way to the dorms, Harry wondering when he could get Hermione alone to tell her about the mirror and the memory of Voldemort, when they saw a lump at the end of the corridor.

Harry, wearing the Potter Glasses, made out what it was long before the others.

Sally Su lay on the floor, still as a statue, camera raised to her eyes. Above her, written in red letters that looked like blood,

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

FOR THE LIFE OF THE RACE, ALL MUDBLOODS MUST DIE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :::
> 
> From the jump I've had the idea that sometime well into the book, I'd casually reveal Harry didn't have glasses. Unfortunately, I effed up by forgetting about this in the first version of chapter 5 I posted. (It's been fixed now.)
> 
> I've been sitting on a fairly detailed explanation of how Sirius got into the castle since before he did it, but nothing so far has felt like the right place to put it. We'll see.
> 
> I like my Voldemort. To me, he's scarier. What do you think?
> 
> I wrote the whole Lily Potter death scene before the dementor attack so that the fragment shown during the attack would agree precisely with what I wanted for the whole memory, but then ended up changing part of it. I'll have to go back and change the dementor attack to match.
> 
> MONSTROSITY, by JLL. Read it on Amazon Kindle for just 99 cents. If you don't have a kindle, you can use the kindle app on any phone, tablet or computer. "Amanda was trying to get away from the trouble posed by her feuding witch clan, but between the vampires, the werewolves, and the handsome but possibly sociopathic jock, staying out of trouble wasn't going so well."
> 
> This chapter had more synopsis than usual. Ms. Rowling is the Queen of synopsis. I'm afraid mine is lacking in energy and color and is off in mood. Otoh, "All Harry knew about wet dreams was Neville had to change his underwear after," might be my favorite line in the whole story.


	12. Chapter 12: Limbless Lizard

Chapter 12: Limbless Lizard

Harry tried the counter-charm to Petrificus Totalus on Sally Su, and nothing happened.

Harry pressed the button on his necklace to summon Dumbledore.

"ALL MUDBLOODS MUST DIE," the graffiti said. Did that include him, considering his mom was muggle-born? It certainly included Hermione.

Ron took a step toward Sally Su, and Harry grabbed him.

"You see how she's all stiff? If she were just hurt and collapsed her elbow wouldn't stick above her shoulder like that. She's petrified. Waiting won't hurt any."

"Lumos," said Hermione. Her wand lit brighter than his ever had, filling the corridor with a bright yellow light. "I feel better with it brighter," she said.

Harry did too.

Footsteps in the corridor. A group of older Ravenclaws striding down. They spotted Harry, Hermione and Ron, looked at what they were looking at, and stopped behind them.

"What's that?"

"Girl's petrified. Dunno what spell. We called for Dumbledore."

A different group of students came around the opposite corner, one of them nearly stepping on Sally Su, and shrieks filled the corridor.

Draco came around the corner, took it in, read the message, and laughed. "The Heir of Slytherin has returned." He pointed to Hermione. "Careful, or you'll be next."

The sneakoscope in Harry's pocket begin to whir as he raised his wand, trying to decide on a spell.

Dumbledore appeared from behind the gaggle of students, Professor Snape right behind him. The Headmaster said, "I am beginning to think, Mr. Malfoy, that you must enjoy detention." He stopped before the still form of Sally Su and waved his wand over her.

He frowned, cast several more spells, "Severus, prepare a Mandrake Restorative Draught."

Professor Snape, "I could get fresh mandrake tonight from a supplier in Angola, but it'll cost a pretty penny."

"I'll search the couch cushions," said Dumbledore. "The faster the better."

Snape set off at a brisk walk, and Dumbledore took the mirror from his coat and called for Professor Trewalney.

"Who was first?" Professor Dumbledore asked.

Hermione and Harry raised their hands. Hermione said, "No one's disturbed the scene in the time we've been here."

"Excellent. What did you see?"

"Just this," said Harry. "It hasn't changed any. We were walking, and there it was."

After asking several questions they didn't have answers to, Dumbledore waved his wand, and a curtain blocked off view of the scene, some students sticking around to see what happened anyway.

Ron said, "I can't believe there are still people who want to kill muggle-borns." He shook his head.  
"Sterilization is more than plenty."

Harry jerked, and stared at Ron.

Hermione said, "Sterilization?"

Ron nodded. "Some people want to have a breeding program, but that seems even worse to me, you know? If anti-miscegenation laws aren't enough, though I think they are, muggle-born just shouldn't have children."

Hermione said, "Did you just say what I think you just said?"

"Hmm?"

"Ron, you're a blood-purist?"

Ron patted her shoulder. "Don't be so angry. It's nothing personal. We have to do something. I wish it weren't true."

"What the hell?" said Hermione.

All Harry knew about blood-purism was that Voldemort had been a blood-purist, and various offhand comments he'd heard older students make about Slytherins. There weren't any blood-purists in Gryffindor, and Ron certainly couldn't be one. So Harry said, "Ron, are you still confused?"

Ron said, "It's like with any hybrids. Like mules. Breeding with muggle-borns reduces fertility. That's why there are fewer wizards than there used to be, and the muggle-born surge will only make it worse. We could go extinct. And it lowers magical power. The great wizards of old could fight a hundred wizards at once. Not even Dumbledore could do that now."

Hermione said, "You think I ought to be sterilized or become some pureblood's sex slave?"

Ron looked affronted. "No, no, you're not listening to me. I already said I'm not in favor of an organized breeding program. And it wouldn't be sex slaves anyway. It would be very orderly."

Harry drew his wand.

Hermione said, "Harry, no!" and grabbed his wrist. She bit her lip, gears turning, and her voice, though rough and near to tears, was quiet and measured. "If great wizards from the past really could take on a hundred wizards at once, isn't that just because, before magical schools were built, lots of wizards were bad at magic? You had great wizards, just like now, but you also had lots of really incompetent wizards hardly stronger than modern third-years. I'm sure Dumbledore could beat a hundred third-years at once. More even."

Ron frowned. "I bet, they were stronger than third-years, but, the main thing is there are so many more muggles than wizards even though we're so much better. How does that make any sense? It's why our population's gone down. If we don't fix the problem, there won't be any of us left in a few generations."

Harry kicked Ron's shin, hard enough to tear skin, and Ron yelped, hopping on one leg. Harry said, "Shut up, and sod off. There's nothing wrong with my parents having me."

Ron stopped hopping, and rubbed his shin. "You're being very irrational. You don't have to get angry. Your parents could've still had you, maybe, just your father should've married a pureblood, and had your mom on the side."

Harry raised his wand, Hermione having let go. His vision was red, his hearing was a roar, and all he wondered was why he hadn't learned any spells meant for causing pain.

"Expelliarmus." Harry's wand flew out of his hand, and Percy snatched it from the air.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for pointing your wand at a fellow student. Ten more from Gryffindor for you being an idiot." That last directed at Ron. Percy said, "I don't know where you found that vile crap, but did you even look into what the other side had to say before swallowing it?"

"I-"

"I guess not. You just liked the smell of it too much? Muggle birthrates are falling. Many of the richest parts have declining populations. When contraception is available, and children are an economic burden, not an asset, birthrates fall. That's new to the muggles, but it's been our reality for millennia."

"You can't compare wizards to muggles," said Ron.

"Why not? Tell me how it's different," said Percy.

Ron looked for something to say, couldn't find it, looked again.

Percy said, "I am making you read even if I have to press your face so hard onto the book your nose breaks. Maybe you won't be so ignorant after."

"But-"

"Be quiet," said Percy. He bowed to Harry and Hermione. "I'm sorry for my brother. He's an idiot, but don't hold it against him. He's only eleven." He gripped Ron's ear, tugging him down the hall, around the corner, out of sight.

Harry had shown that kid his invisibility bedsheet, and his magic glasses. He'd been toying with telling him what he'd seen in the Mirror of Erised. And the whole time Ron had been thing horrible thought that couldn't possibly be true?

They couldn't be true, could they?

Hermione said, "He's probably still confused."

"Good riddance to him," Harry murmured.

#

#

The Gryffindor common room was alive with rumors about the Chamber of Secrets and the Monster of Slytherin, which had to be snake, though no one could think of a snake that petrified. And about the Heir of Slytherin, who, considering how complicated magical inheritance was, might be any Slytherin at all.

Most of the students treated it as a joke, strangely unconcerned, but Harry listened. His mind, when not thinking of Ron, was wrapped up by his theory that Voldemort's wraith was drifting through the castle wall, attacking students and killing cats and only he could hear it, but something in the talk about magical snakes niggled at his mind.

#

#

It wasn't till classes had ended the next day and he and Hermione were in one of the library's study rooms doing homework that he made the connection. "I can talk to snakes."

Hermione stared.

"I don't think I've ever told you. It's not important. But suppose the culprit is a snake. It hisses. I hear whispering, but everyone else just hears a little hiss that sounds like wind, or water in a pipe."

He sat back, considering the elegance of that explanation. It was perfect. It might not be right, but it was perfect.

Hermione said. "That makes you a parseltongue. Like Salazar Slytherin."

Slytherin had done it too? "Next time I hear the voice, I'll pay attention to whether what I'm hearing is really English."

Hermione said, "I'll listen for hissing. But if you had a snake, next time you heard the whispering you could ask your snake if it heard the whispering too. And we could experiment with the limits of parseltongue."

They spent an hour researching snakes, (Harry felt partial to getting a ball python) then settled down to the more practical question of how to get a snake. Hermione suggested a spell she'd read about called "Serpensortia," and while investigation proved it was fairly easy, it also turned out to be just a conjuring spell, which meant the snake would disappear after an hour or two.

Harry said, "Couldn't we just make it permanent?"

Hermione said, "That's hard to do with something living. We'd have to borrow a philosopher's stone, and get help from older students. And even then..." Animal Transubstantiation was not a subject the first-year course dwelt on, but they'd picked up from older students that it was hard and there was a lot you just couldn't do. "Couldn't we just catch a snake?"

Harry said, "It's winter. They're hibernating. We could just ask a Slytherin. Loads of them have snakes." The letter said only cats, owls, or toads, but Harry had yet to see anyone taken to task for having something else.

Hermione said, "If the Chamber of Secrets has been opened, it's probably by a Slytherin. We'd tip them off. Isn't there anyone else who might have a snake?"

Harry's eyes widened. Divination was a must for his third-year electives. "I know someone who probably has a snake. And he even owes me a present.

#

#

Fang politely moved aside to give them more room on the sofa, and Harry explained that he'd like a snake, and mentioned the idea of a ball python.

"Don't have any ball pythons," said Hagrid. "I've got an Ophies Amphipterotai egg, which yeh have probably just heard called 'a winged snake, and I've got an Agathodaemon egg. Ophies are aggressive, so I'd go with the Agathodaemon. Relation of Ouroboros. Damn smart, earth connection, tunnels right through the ground when it wants. Healing powers. Survives off affection, small rodents, and whatever dark magic it can catch, which is why people used to keep them as house or farm guardians. Some places, they still do. Sound alright?"

"Sounds great," said Harry, a little overwhelmed.

Hagrid rummaged through a cabinet. "Got an egg in here somewhere, in stasis at a day from hatching. It'll want milk the first day-I'll make you up a bottle-milk, rodents and bugs fer a week thereafter, then drop the milk. Don't let it at any cheese. They like it but it ain't good for 'em. Grapes are fine, but in moderation, and nothing seedless. Grape leaves, and a bit of wine on special occasions. Various dark creatures, if yeh can find them. Grabby shadows, invasive billywigs, I'll make yeh a list. Take it ter the greenhouse from time ta time so it can get some dirt and leafy greens. Ah, here it is." Hagrid held up a bright green and gold egg, a little larger than a chicken's egg. "As for hatching it. Bury the egg about three inches deep in a box of dry, sandy soil. Get the soil nice and toasty, like it's in the sun on a warm day. I'll lend yeh some charcoal. Then sit where yeh buried the egg. I suggest wearing trousers, but none too thick or your warmth won't come through. And keep a book in reach, yeh'll be sitting for hours."

Hagrid put together a page of instructions, some charcoals, a brazier for the charcoals, the snake milk and powder to mix more snake milk, the box ,which was about three square feet, a large bag of soil to put in the box. Harry put most of it in his expanded bag, but the box and large bag of soil didn't fit, so Hagrid cast feather light charms on them.

They got weird looks carrying them to the dorms, but no one stopped them.

Hermione wanted to do it in the common room, so she could see, but Harry didn't want any prefects interfering. He went up the stairs to the first-year boys' room, and Hermione followed him.

"What are you doing?"

"There's no rule saying I can't be up here," she said.

"Ron will be in here eventually."

"I don't care."

She had that set to her jaw that some other boys had described as 'bossy,' so rather than arguing, Harry said, "Wait a moment," opened the door just enough to slip through, and closed it behind himself.

Tidiness had been a necessary habit in his cupboard, but he'd let it go since coming to Hogwarts. He stuffed his own stuff in his trunk, given it was closer than his cabinet, and kicked the other boys' stuff under their beds. No dirty laundry, thankfully, the house-elves must've already been through, but parchment, books, games, some strange stuff in a bowl Tucker had left out, some weird snapping plants of Neville's that he decided were good conversation pieces and ought to be left visible, three board games in progress, and wads of half-eaten food that he threw in the trash.

He cleaned Hedwig's droppings, though it looked as if the house-elves had done that recently too, then opened a window to clear out that weird smell they could never quite get rid of.

"Alright, Hermione, come in!"

She looked around curiously and said, "It's not so different from the girls' room, but why is the window open? It's cold outside."

"Just wanted some fresh air.

He set up the brazier next to his bed, pouring the charcoal in, and Hermione picked up a magazine he'd missed. "What's this?"

Harry saw the cover and said, "Nenenenanananenanenena"

Hermione opened it, turned bright red, said, "Oh my," and shut it.

"That's Ray's!" Ray had been 12 for two months, shaved once a week, and talked a lot about which girls had nice big jugs.

Hermione said, "You haven't looked at it, have you?"

"Of course not. I mean, he showed me, but I didn't like it." He'd thought it was weird.

Hermione cracked it open and took another peak, one eye shut. "The way the pictures move... She closed it again and laughed. "What until I tell Eloise and Tatiana about this. The other day they were saying they thought Ray was cute."

Harry said, "Do you think Ray's cute?"

Hermione shrugged. "He's okay, but he's not living this down anytime soon."

"What about me?" said Harry, before he could stop himself. "I mean, do the girls think I'm cute?"

Hermione frowned. "The girls are waiting to see what you look like when you've gotten taller and bought a comb."

Harry touched his hair. It had always been wild, but, even with his paltry abilities as a metamorphmagus, he ought to be able to get it to do whatever he wanted.

Hermione sett up the box, and before long they had the egg buried in sand, the sand being warmed by the brazier beneath it, and Harry sitting on top in his muggle clothes, which he'd reparoed and reductoed till they fit pretty well and didn't look too bad, though he hadn't yet managed the charm to make them permanently whatever color he wanted.

Hermione sat on his bed, reading Year with the Yeti.

Ron opened the door, saw them, and shut the door.

Hermione reached through the hole in the box and vanished one of the charcoal lumps off the brazier, as the sand in the box was getting uncomfortably hot.

Harry opened his mother's essay collection on muggle-borns, Magic and the Muggle, but the start at least was complicated stuff about Magical Inheritance and he could barely make heads or tails of it, even with a reference book in hand for the technical terms. He understood the point though. There wasn't any reason to believe mating with muggle-borns would reduce fertility, and for very well understood reasons having to do with pins, (which were not so much like genes as most muggle-borns assumed) muggle-borns were actually slightly less likely to produce a squib than purebloods, once you controlled for muggle-borns' greater propensity to marry muggles.

Hermione took a turn sitting on the box so he could use the loo, and instead of coming right back he popped down to the Great Hall and got dinner for the both of them. Biscuits with honey, and some cold cuts.

They each used the Mouth Cleaning charm for hygiene's sake, and Harry retook his place on the box while Hermione went to the loo.

Hermione was back on the box, a chapter into Travels with Trolls (none of the Lockhart books were very long) when Ben walked in, saw Hermione, and stopped.

"What are you doing here?" said Ben.

"Harry and I are hatching an egg together," said Hermione.

"An egg?" said Ben, moving to his bed. "Isn't it a little early for children? Though I hear Harry has wedding rings."

"I will turn into a lion and hit you," said Harry.

"Weddings rings?" said Hermione.

"Welch Shirby. Christmas. As a joke."

"Welch got us a joint present and you haven't given me my half?"

He fumbled around the bottom of his expanded bag, and pulled out both rings. Hermione took hers and held it up to the light.

She said, "Real gold, and real artificial gemstones I think. Diamond and emerald. Dead cheap in magical Britain, but still. I'll have to thank Welch." She slipped it on.

"Aah!" said Harry.

"Relax. It's just jewellery. And I put it on my index finger. Self-sizing too. Gold and gems take magic well, we could make charming them a project."

"I'm not wearing mine," said Harry.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," said Hermione, turning hers over on her finger. "I don't usually wear jewellery, but this is quite the nicest jewellery I've ever had."

Harry continued the book. The technical part ended, and it veered toward interesting. The sections seemed to be arranged in the order his mother had written them, but he thought the technical stuff should be at the back. What followed was more interesting.

A very old legend of wizards and witches had it that the first humans had been wizards and witches. But a woman named Morbrink had chosen between two men to be her husband, and the one scorned, a wizard named Squib, fell into a jealous rage and cursed her so that her descendants would lack magic. She'd had a child, and the first 'squib,' the first muggle, had been born.

The traditional pureblood understanding of the myth was that it meant that muggles were innately inferior, the outcome of a dark curse.

His mother thought that, if the legend were true, or something like it was, then muggles were really wizards and witches suffering from a Hereditary Curse, a disease, and they deserved compassion, and treatment. If a way of breaking the curse could be found, then not just squibs, but every muggle in the world would become magic.

It had hardly been mentioned in the biography he'd read, yet he got the idea it was the holy grail of his mother's research.

He flipped back a few pages to re-read an earlier part, and saw the dedication at the beginning of the section.

For Petunia Evans, because reality need not be so cruel.

Several minutes passed before Harry was calm enough to continue.

Despite wanting to cure it, his mother thought being a muggle wasn't such a horrible condition. Like being blind or missing a hand, it did not cut at the core of being human, which was the human mind. Rather, it had forced muggles to lean on those minds more heavily.

Neville came in, froze when he saw Hermione, and didn't make any sharp comments when Hermione told him she was hatching an egg.

Dean said, "Are you going to be here all night?"

"Maybe. Until the egg hatches."

Ron finally came in. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Harry was silent.

Hermione said, "We're hatching a-"

Harry said, "We're not talking to you until you apologize."

"You're the one who kicked me."

Harry wanted to say, 'And I'll kick you again if you like,' but he'd just said he wasn't talking to him, so he held his silence, and Ron, after a long moment and glare, snatched his nightclothes from his cabinet and changed in the bathroom.

When he came out, he sat on his bed, staring and Harry and Hermione, and to Harry's surprise, said nothing, though he seemed to consider it several times.

A knock on the door. A high voice said, "Everyone's decent in there?"

"Yes," said Harry.

Fei-Fei, Tatiana and Eloise came in, all in their nightclothes. "Hermione, you're sleeping in the boys' dorm tonight?"

"I'm not sleeping. Harry and I are hatching an egg together."

The three girls looked at each other and burst into laughter. "Finally finished with all your detentions and now you're hatching an egg? What kind of egg?"

"Find out when it hatches," said Hermione. "Some time tonight."

"Can we stay?" said Tatiana.

All the boys opened their mouths to say no, but Hermione beat them to it with a resounding "Of course. While you're here, you should ask Ray to show you this really interesting magazine he has."

"Um." said Ray.

"What magazine?" said Fei-Fei.

Ray grabbed it off the foot of his bed, clutched it tight to his chest, flipped over, buried his face in his pillow, and would not respond.

Harry returned to his book while Hermione fought off further inquiries about what exactly it was they were hatching. His mother had moved on to why there were so many more muggles than wizards and witches. It had to do with economic incentives to have or not have children, manual labor, and contraception. Like what Percy said, but he understood it better now.

They doused their lights when the bugle sounded, and Tatiana started telling a ghost story.

She was getting to the part where the ghost noticed that the man she was trusting to solve her murder had exorcism candles in his pockets when Alice Bell burst in, her wand a bright light.

Alice said, "What the bleeding hell are four girls doing in the boys' dorm after dark?"

Hermione said, "Harry and I are hatching an egg together."

"What? No. I don't want to know. Tell me in the morning. All of you girls, get to your rooms. You too Miss Granger. And Harry. Why are you sitting on a sandbox?"

"I'm hatching the egg," said Harry. "It's nothing dangerous. Hagrid gave it to me."

Alice rubbed her temples. "In the morning. Girls, out." She grabbed Hermione's arm, and bustled the four other girls. Ray breathed a massive sigh of relief when the door shut.

Harry pulled a blanket over himself, cast lumos,and went back to his book.

#

#

Two hours later, Harry was rubbing his head and squinting at the book. It had gotten technical again. There was even math. The slow, steady breathing of the other boys lulled him-no one had any trouble falling asleep when you could cast a light sleeping spell on yourself, though you weren't supposed to-and he was having trouble staying awake.

The sand shifted beneath him. A sound like a small crack.

Harry folded the book, slipped it in his bag, eased himself off the box, and grabbed the milk bottle. The sand trembled, and he fought the temptation to unbury the egg. Hagrid had said to let it struggle.

A tiny head poked out of the sand. Big, round pupils in a thin ring of green, its scales a mix of leafy green, purplish blue, and branch brown.

He put his hand next to it, and said "Come," knowing what he spoke wasn't English.

It wriggled onto his hand, bright, surprisingly cute, and hardly larger than an earthworm. Harry extended the bottle and said, "Milk." With no more explanation than that, the baby snake latched onto the nipple of the bottle and drank more than Harry would've thought would fit in it.

It unclamped its jaws from the nipple of the bottle, tasted the air with its tongue, and said, "Mummy?"

Harry held in a laugh, pulled a blanket over his shoulders, crept out of the room, and tip-toed into the common room holding the snake and the bottle, everything else he might need in the expanded bag slung at his side.

He settled into a chair by the fireplace, wondering if he should light it, and the snake said, "Mummy, hurts."

"Hurts?"

"Hurts," said the snake, and claylike white-yellow nodules came out of an open spot near the end of it, moist and smelling of ammonia.

Harry shuddered, took out his wand, vanished the nodules, cast a cleaning charm on his hand, and the little snake said, "Hunger."

Harry thrust the bottle at it again. Its little head lifted, clamped on the nipple, little gulps moving down its unending neck.

He raised the bottle, concerned that the baby snake had already drunk its own body weight, and the snake rose with it, not giving up its grip, just the end of it resting on his palm.

When it had had its fill it sank slowly onto his palm, dropped onto his lap, crawled up his shirt, and curled in the hollow where his stomach met his chest.

"Mummy," it said, and slept.

Harry shivered, and stroked it through his shirt, pulling the blanket over himself so the snake would be warm as it slept. Snakes weren't normally so friendly, he was almost sure. Perhaps just agathodaemons. He should've been reading a book on snake care, not on muggle-borns.

He reached out with charismancy, searching for Hermione with his mind, counting on the magic connection between best friends. After several minutes of that not working, the snake discharged on his stomach and Harry said, "Eeek!"

After cleaning that up, he said to the snake, "If you need to pee or poop or whatever you're doing, don't do it on me."

"Poop?"

He looked in its eyes, sent it an image, and said "Poop."

He didn't think it understood, but the opening of a door distracted him. Hermione stood at the top of the stairs, blinking through the glare of his lumos.

"It hatched?" She ran down the stairs, saying, "I heard you scream."

"I didn't scream."

"Who was it then?"

"It wasn't a scream. I was just surprised." He held out the snake.

"Can I see hold it?" said Hermione, and took it from his hands before he had the chance to say yes. "I didn't think it would be so cute," she squealed.

The snake looked at her cautiously and said, "Daddy?"

"Hermione," said Harry.

"Her miney?"

"Hermione,"

"Her my knee?"

"Close enough," said Harry.

"Not your knee," said the snake.

Harry laughed, and Hermione said, "That hissing is really a language? It talks like a human in it? How smart is it?"

Harry shrugged. "Smarter than a human newborn."

Hermione shook her head, wearing her 'thinking even harder than usual' face and dropped it when the snake crawled up her arm and onto her neck. "It tickles, it tickles, it tickles," she said, but waved Harry off when he tried to take it.

The names discussion was dampened by their inability to tell whether it was a boy snake or a girl snake. (When Harry asked, it said something that translated in Harry's head as "undefined objects: clarify.")

It discharged on Hermione, and Harry laughed. He made up a new bottle of milk, and they sat together on one of the larger chairs, the snake once more curled on his sternum.

#

#

Light, footsteps, and whispers brought Harry half out of sleep. He should wake up the rest of the way, but whatever he was leaning against was too warm and comfortable. He turned to get a better hold of it, and something sharp dug into his stomach.

It felt like an elbow.

Harry's eyes popped open. Other students were looking at him, strange smiles on their faces. Alice Bell said, "You two are just too cute." She held a camera.

Harry said, "Hermione."

"Pee on me again?" she mumbled, still asleep.

"Hermione." He shook her shoulder, and she woke, taking in morning in the common room, the early risers already dressed and ready for breakfast, but hanging around the common room to see whatever it was Aitches had been hatching, Alice Bell frozen in the act of showing off a photo of Hermione and Harry snuggling as they slept.

Alice Bell said, "Harry pees on you?"

Harry pulled the snake out from under his shirt. It had gotten larger in the night, almost twice as large size as before, growing with the speed only magic creatures could muster. "This pees on us," he said. "Though it's more like a thick paste."

After a long silence, while Harry wondered why everyone was staring at him quite the way they were, Percy stepped over and said, "You can't have a snake. School rules are an owl, or a toad, or a cat."

Harry was ready for this objection. "Lots of students have other animals. You had a rat. It turned to be a wizard, but that doesn't help your case. Jordan Lee-"

"Lee Jordan," said Hermione.

"Lee Jordan has a tarantula. Half the Slytherins have snakes, and half the Ravenclaws have ravens. The Hufflepuffs..." none of the Hufflepuffs had badgers. They were very bad pets. "Half the Hufflepuffs have cats that are really kneazles, which aren't technically cats, and that goes for Gryffindor too. The school clearly isn't serious about the pet rules."

Alice said, "Cats, Owls and Toads are treated as examples. Something small, low maintenance, easy to keep inside. But the rule is one. One. You have an owl, and we've already been overlooking the spider in your hair since it's small, but you can't have three."

"You know about Phil?" No one had ever noticed Phil when he'd lived with muggles.

"It's hard to miss a little speck of magic running around your hair. Everyone's noticed."

Ron, standing at the back of the crowd, turned pale and said, "Harry has a spider in his hair?"

Hermione said, "It's a Christmas present. From Hagrid. Harry can't turn down a Christmas present from a staff member, can he?"

Alice paused.

"Right," said Harry. "It's a late Christmas present from Hagrid. And it's to me and Hermione, so we still have one pet each, if you forget the spider, which you should, because there are loads of spiders anyway. And, I don't know if you know this, but I've been going to see Hagrid for special training. It's sort of a secret why, but this has something to do-"

Alice said, "You see Hagrid twice a week to practice charismancy, right? Everyone knows that."

They did? "So Hagrid is an instructor of mine, appointed by Professor Dumbledore, and he gave me this snake as part of training. I have to keep it."

Percy said, "You can't have a snake in Gryffindor tower."

"I know it's the sign of Slytherin, and they're our rivals, but-"

"They're evil," said Percy.

"A lot of Slytherins are jerks, sure but evil is a little strong."

"I meant snakes are evil."

Harry gaped. "How are they evil? They just want to eat a rat twice a week and spend the rest of the time sleeping somewhere warm and safe."

Alice said, "Sorry, but keeping a snake in Gryffindor tower would be like dressing the dorm in silver and green. You'll have to keep it somewhere else."

Ron said, "What if it's not a snake? What if it's a limbless lizard?"

Harry turned to tell Ron to butt out and stay away, and not vocalize whatever stupidity passed through his head, but Alice beat him to it.

"That's the dumbest idea I've heard in weeks." She nodded thoughtfully, and said to Percy. "Your brother might be suited to a career in the ministry. If it's just a limbless lizard... Excellent thinking, Ron." She raised his voice to make sure the whole common room would hear. "Alright. I don't want anyone looking up whatever that is-"

"An agathodaemon," said Hermione.

"I don't want anyone looking up agathodaemons and telling me they're snakes. If you see that written anywhere, it's a mistake. They're limbless lizards. And I'm going to have to talk to Hagrid and Professor McGonagall, but it's my understanding at present that it's not Harry's, it's a pet given to Hermione for Christmas by a staff member so that Harry can use it as a longterm project under the supervision of his duly appointed charismancy tutor." She paused. "I admit that doesn't make a lot of sense, but the paperwork will be impressive. Harry, just make sure it doesn't eat anyone else's pet."

It wasn't big enough to eat other pets yet. Maybe in a few days it could manage a mouse, if it kept growing quickly, but he didn't think anyone had a mouse. "Sure." He spoke to the snake "Don't eat anything unless I tell you too. You could get in tro-"

Alice yelled, "Harry!"

"Yes?"

"You're talking to the snake?"

"Yes."

"You're a parselmouth?"

"That's why Hagrid gave him to me. Because I can talk to snakes. And limbless lizards. I know it's not really a Gryffindor thing, but..." He trailed off as he saw how the other students were staring. He'd guessed they wouldn't be thrilled, but from the way they were staring, talking to snakes was a thousand times worse than having one.

This was the sort of thing Ron would've known.

Harry said, "There's a Gryffindor who can speak to snakes, but not any Slytherins who can turn into lions, so we're winning right?"

"Maybe," said Percy, very weakly.

"I'm a Gryffindor. I bleed red and gold." Red anyway. "My parents were Gryffindors, Head Boy and Head Girl. I turn into a lion and romp in the snow." He was about to turn into a lion to prove his point when Hermione grabbed his arm. "Let's give everyone a chance to get used to the idea," she said, and pulled him away.

#

#

Breakfast was a strange affair.

With one hand, Harry rolled a thin pancake around some berries. With the other, he bottle fed the snake, which was getting so large it hardly fit in his palm; it had wrapped a couple coils through his fingers. He could almost hear it growing as it chugged. A third of the table was glaring, a third was intrigued, and a third had better things to do.

George, who'd claimed a space next to the day's chief entertainment, said, "Is that cow milk?"

Hermione said, "Hagrid gave us a powder. We mix it with water. Just milk the first day, Hagrid said."

The snake dropped off his hand onto the table. A couple girls shrieked, and few chairs slid back, and when Harry picked the snake up it was downing a blackberry bigger than its head, and it got the berry swallowed before Harry could pull it out. Even a few of the glarers cracked a smile at that.

Neville said, "W-What's its name?"

"Lenny," said Harry. Not his first choice, but a snake named Lenny would be harder to hate than Deathbite or Mouseterror.

"So it's a boy?"

"Maybe."

"It's a boy." Harry turned to see Daphne Greengrass, a Slytherin first-year, standing behind him.

"You really have a snake." she said.

Harry said, "Heavens no. This isn't a snake. Gryffindors don't have snakes. It's a limbless lizard. "

She giggled.

"But how do you know he's male?"

"If I may?" She held out a hand.

"Lenny, she wants to hold you."

The snake looked at Daphne Greengrass, flicked the air with his tongue, and said, "Okay."

He handed it to Daphne, who stared at Harry. "You really are a parselmouth!"

"Yes. Its gender?"

"Um. Sure." She flipped Lenny over. "See this part? The cloaca?" Where the discharges had come out. "The tail behind it is longer and thicker, than it tapers quickly at the end. That's enough to guess, but to really be sure... You have to really know what you're doing here, but..." She held it near the end, bent it, rolled back some skin, and two red prongs stuck out of a vent. "Hemipenes."

"Stop!" said Lenny, and darted out of Daphne's hand onto Harry's chest.

"He didn't like it," said Harry. He wouldn't have liked it either.

Harry moved into the empty seat that was usually Ron's, motioning for Daphne to take the chair he'd vacated. Once she was sitting between Harry and Hermione, they grilled her on limbless lizard care, unconcerned by the renewed glares in response to their inviting a Slytherin to sit at Gryffindor table.

"...the white pasty stuff is urates..."

"...feces too..."

"...if it's grown that much, it should've shed, but if it's magical..."

"...pass the butter..."

...are you really the Heir of Slytherin?"

Harry paused, remembering what Hermione had said when she'd pulled him aside before breakfast.

"It's just like what Professor Orphiel said about the riding. Own it, and it won't be an issue. We'll act like there's nothing wrong with talking to snakes, and people will be tempted to believe us."

Harry said, "Who knows. The Potters are an old family, and I don't understand magical inheritance. Maybe you're the Heir of Slytherin, Daphne. Or Professor Sprout. But I didn't open any Chamber of Secrets, and I didn't petrify Sally Su or write that trash on the wall."

George placed a small photo in front of them.

Harry and Hermione sleeping in a big red chair, his head resting on her shoulder, the blanket fallen down to expose their clothes, no movement but their breathing.

Harry snatched it off the table, and Fred reached over Daphne and put another right where it had been. "And one for you too," Fred said, giving another copy of the photo to Hermione.

Fred had a box of them. Harry realized what he'd been doing while absent from breakfast.

"The Heir of Slytherin," said George, "Napping with his muggle-born best friend. With very bad bed hair."

Fred said, "You should've seen how red he turned when he woke."

"Thought someone had him hit with the curse of the tomato."

Fred said, "Must've hit Hermione with it too a moment later."

George, "Wish I had a picture of that,"

"A picture of this?" said Fred, taking another square of glossy paper from his box.

Harry made a grab for it, and Fred let him have it.

"Plenty more where that came from," said the red-head.

Like all wizard photos, the picture moved, a short video loop, this one longer than most. It started with Harry snuggling up closer to Hermione, and ended with Harry holding the snake out.

Harry blushed even redder than he had in the morning, and looked at the table. Lenny said, "Danger?"

Harry said, "Do your powers include rewinding time?"

The snake blinked, once and slowly. "A sprig of thyme?" it said, sounding hungry.

That was a pun, wasn't it? Or genuine confusion. Just a coincidence, except it was the second pun, wasn't it? Lenny had made a pun on Hermione's name earlier. Not your knee, he had said. English puns translated into parseltongue? Was parseltongue just hissy English? Meaning French wizards couldn't speak it? Or he'd have to learn French to talk to French snakes? That didn't make sense.

He thought about it as breakfast went on, as Malfoy came over to fetch Daphne and got in an argument about how there was no way Harry Potter was the Heir of Slytherin, and was probably faking being a parselmouth anyway, and didn't Harry notice that it was Ron arguing with him, saying Harry definitely wasn't the Heir of Slytherin but definitely was a parselmouth.

How was it that Lenny already knew so many words when he had just been born? How had he known what a knee was, or thyme? How could he parse sentences that depended on grammar for meaning?

A stir ran through the Great Hall like a gust of wind, and Harry looked up to see Sally Su, mobile once more, walking between the tables, eyes locked on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :::
> 
> This chapter drove me batty. That might be because the news in America is disrupting my mood, or because of the hard choice over whether to make Ron a blood-purist. I've seldom wanted an editor so badly, and am curious to see what y'all think of that choice.
> 
> I wrote a book. It's good. I actually had beta readers for that, and took my time with tough decisions. It's called Monstrosity (by J L L), and you can buy the ebook on Amazon. Please do.
> 
> I sometimes worry I'm treating Harry as if he's 6 months to a year older than he is. But I'm not planning on writing a second year, so it's now or never for certain scenes. (There will be no real romance though. Kids that young do sometimes "date," but I'm not writing this that way.)
> 
> (Kid that young definitely sometimes talk about 'nice big jugs,' tho I get the feeling they forget they did so as they get older.)
> 
> Agathodaemons are an old Greek myth. They're snakes and guardians spirits, protecting people, households, and vineyards, providing luck, health and wisdom. In some versions of the myth, they have human heads. In others, they don't. I've made of them what I like.
> 
> Once upon a time, it was common for Indo-European and Semitic cultures to view snakes as holy animals, often connected to earth and healing.
> 
> Snakes show up in lots of different stories about a Tree of Life in a Divine Garden. Usually, they're some sort of protector, but the positive impression of snakes seems to have been dethroned by the spread of the particularly popular version of the story which is known as the Garden of Eden. In that telling, the snake is the villain.
> 
> (If you're a literalist Christian or Jew and feel offended, notice that there being loads of noticeably similar stories can be taken as evidence that something like it actually happened.)
> 
> Grimes = Luna. I have no idea what's going on, but the music video for Venus Fly is stunning.


	13. Harry Potter and the Polymagus Chapter 13: The Bias Catalogue

Sally Su stopped to tell a tall Hufflepuff that she'd been taking pictures of the New Years decorations for the newspaper when she'd seen two yellow lights through her camera lens, and the next thing she'd known, she'd woken up to Professor Snape's glowering mug in the hospital wing.

The Hufflepuff said, "I'd probably petrify all over again if I woke up to that."

Sally laughed, grabbed the back of a chair from the Hufflepuff table, and dragged it across the stone toward Harry, the entire hall silent but for the screech, students stupefied by the drama of the journalist petrified by the Monster of Slytherin (maybe) confronting the Boy-Who-Lived and who was also a parselmouth (probably).

She stopped it right by him, and sat, facing him, straddling the back of the chair. "Heya Harry. I hear you found me."  
Her voice was loud enough that in the quiet, it stretched quite a ways, so Harry matched its volume. "Hermione, Ron and I found you."

"Thank you. Now, I find it horribly interesting that I was petrified, and graffiti was posted claiming that the Chamber of Secrets has been opened, and you are, according to rumor, I hear, a parselmouth."

He'd yet to hear anyone but he and Hermione say 'parseltongue.' He was starting to think it was the wrong term. "I wanted to experiment with parselmouth, in case there really is a dangerous snake loose in Hogwarts, so I got a sna-. A limbless lizard. Gryffindors don't have snakes."

She smiled. "You're not the Heir of Slytherin, are you? And you didn't petrify me?"  
"No and no."

"I didn't think so." She lowered her voice. "I'm going to believe you, Harry Potter, because really, you don't seem the sort, and in return you'll give me an exclusive interview, at the time of my choosing, plus quotes for the story I'm going to write on my being petrified. Deal?"

Harry shook her hand, and they chatted at the table, Sally getting her quotes.

#

#

Wanting to see Tonks transform, Hermione accompanied Harry to his metamorphmagery tutoring. The room held a black-haired woman with scarlet lips and Professor Snape, the two speaking quietly together as Harry and Hermione came in.

Harry wondered if this was the wrong room or the wrong time, but the black-haired woman looked up, and in Tonks' voice said, "Right on time, Harry." Her face shifted to what Harry supposed was 'natural Tonks,' though presumably the pink hair wasn't natural, and she said, "Nice to see you again, Hermione."

Hermione said, "Again?"

Tonks shifted into the form of a third or fourth-year boy. "Hey."

As Hermione blushed and winced simultaneously, Harry stared at Snape, wondering why the Professor was in the room and when he would leave.

Professor Snape stalked forward, looming over Harry. "Our celebrity has attracted yet more attention to himself, I hear. Some rare and flashy pet to take everywhere."

Harry said, "Just a limbless lizard," and opened his hand, revealing Lenny snoozing in a colorful ball on his hand.

Snape's eyes roamed over it. "A colorful garter snake," he pronounced. "Why did you get it?"

"I speak parselmouth."

"You speak parseltongue. Parseltongue is the language, parselmouths are its speakers. Clearly, English is a language you still struggle with."

Hermione shrieked. She ran into the center of the room, staring at a corner in deep shadow, which, now that Harry looked at it, shouldn't be in shadow.

Hermione said, "Something's there."

Harry squinted, and his glasses focused, showing him a little blotch of darkness with long arms floating in the corner.

Snape said, "A Grabby Shadow. Tenaci Umbra. Useful for potions. Tonks noticed it, and I'm here to collect it. This one's just a baby." He held up a small white box and a little wooden handled dust broom.

Harry said, "Just a moment." He walked toward the corner, and asked Lenny, "Do you want to eat that?"

Lenny tasted the air with his tongue. "Yes yes yes yes yes yes," said Lenny.

Harry set Lenny on the ground, the little snake winding quickly toward the shadow, Harry watching closely in case the grabby shadow was too much for it.

Hermione sounded worried, "Hagrid said only milk the first day."

Harry shrugged. He had a feeling. Snape asked what he was doing, Lenny disappeared into the shadow, and the shadow boiled.

He'd half expected a scream, but there was only Lenny's excited hissing-not even really words-and a sound like water slopping around a bowl.

The shadow shrank. Snape was saying something, but Harry wasn't paying attention. Lenny was more visible every moment as the mass of the shadow went up his mouth like dirt up a vacuum's hose.

"Wow," said Harry. Though still quite small, the snake seemed larger than before. "Yummy, mummy."He bent down, picked up Lenny as the snake wriggled toward him and said, "You're going to be useful for a lot more than experimenting with parseltongue, aren't you?"

Snape said, "Potter... Did you not hear me say I was planning on using the shadow? And what on earth is that snake?"

"It's a common garter snake," said Harry.

"Potter!"  
"It's an agathodaemon."

Professor Snape closed his eyes, looking even more startled than before. "And where did you get an agathodaemon?"  
"Hagrid."

"And did you promise him your first-born child in return?"  
"It was a Christmas present."

"A Christmas present," said Snape, rubbing his forehead. "I hope you gave him something nice in return. The Resurrection Stone, perhaps. Thankfully, the number of Britons who even know what an agathodaemon is is quite small. Single digit. But I would stop spreading that name around if I were you, you damn foolish princeling."

Harry said, "So it's rare?"

Snape looked pained. "And don't think I don't recognize those glasses you're wearing. Spoiled rotten."

Tonks said, "Severus."

"Potter needs a firm hand squeezing his head back to size."

"He needs his lesson."

Snape cast a covetous glance at Lenny and took a seat at the back of the classroom. "I'm curious to see whether Potter's any better at metamorphmagery than potions."

Tonks said, "If you're gonna be a pain, leave."

Snape shut his mouth with an audible clack, and Harry took his seat in front of the mirror. They started on hair.

He tried turning it blond again, and didn't manage it. He was nervous to have an audience, especially since he seemed to be getting worse rather than better with each lesson. Tonks said that learning to do properly what you'd previously done instinctively always involved taking a step back, but Harry could tell she was concerned.

Tonks said, "Focus on your head. Feel every follicle on your scalp."

He felt a mass of hair, not every follicle, and the hair was black, and it wanted to stay that way, and not a single hair changed color.

After a few minutes, there'd been a bit of color changing, and his hair had rippled like it was in the wind, but he hadn't managed much.

He closed his eyes in frustration. Hermione and Snape were both here, and he was doing even worse than normal. Stupid hair. Natural colors were supposed to be easier than unnatural ones, and he couldn't even turn his hair blond. Why couldn't he be blond in the first place?

"Excellent Harry. Turn around so I can see the back."

Harry looked at the mirror. The boy staring back had a perfect head of mid-shaded blond hair, not a bit of black running through it. He turned his head, and Tonks gave him a thumbs up. "Perfect. Now back to black."

Harry concentrated, and his hair stayed yellow, as resistant to turning black as it had been to turning blond, even though Tonks said returning to natural was more like letting something go than picking something up.

But when it had happened, he hadn't been focusing on his hair the way Tonks said to. Harry 'wished' he had black hair again, and that didn't work. Of course not. In retrospect, he'd felt himself transform just before Tonks had praised him.

Harry focused not on turning his hair black, but on transforming his whole self into a Harry Potter with black hair, and felt, through every bit of him, the slightest shiver of transformation.

"Well done," said Tonks.

A Harry Potter with red hair. A Harry Potter with pink hair. Brown hair. Green hair. No hair.

Tonks said, "Harry, you've made a breakthrough."

"Something's clicked," he agreed, and gave dark-skinned Harry Potter a try. Tonks clapped, and Hermione followed her lead.

He changed back and rubbed his temples "I'm getting tired."

"I imagine so. When I first started doing big transformations, I felt like I was kneading myself like a lump of clay. We're done for the day."

Hermione asked Tonks if she could show off a few advanced transformations.

Tonks grew a pig's nose, then a duck's beak, and cycled through a variety of faces, ending on Snape's.

Tonks-Snape said, "Potter's a butthead, potions is the best subject, Argh, Argh, I'm so dark and mysterious."  
Hermione and Harry laughed and Snape said, "Make mock of me as you'd like, Tonks, but not in front of my students."

"We don't always get what we'd like," said Tonks, still wearing Snape's face. "Just be glad Harry didn't bring that other friend he mentioned."

Hermione and Harry fell silent, smiles gone.

Snape said, "The Weasley is doubtless occupied with making up what work he missed."

Hermione said, "He started talking about muggle-borns, fertility, and the need for anti-miscegenation laws."

Harry hissed, "Hermione, this is private."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Really? A Weasley? I take it you argued?"

Harry said, "None of your business."

Hermione said, "We're not talking right now."

Snape said, "And you, Harry?"

No point trying to keep it private anymore. "I kicked him."

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow. "And are you still friends."

"I think so," said Hermione.

"Not really," said Harry.

Professor Snape said, "He offended you, so you're not friends anymore? He lost himself, so you said goodbye? A Ravenclaw would think it was an interesting discussion, a Hufflepuff would be loyal, and a Slytherin would know not to dispose of an ally so quickly. Only a brave Gryffindor would get angry and cut off ties. Seems you were sorted into the right house after all."

"I-"

"Do you know why he thinks what he thinks? Have you reasoned with him?"

"No, I-"

"Not a surprise coming from Potter, but Granger, I expect smarter of you."

Hermione looked down as from beneath her clothing came a sound somewhat like a bell, somewhat like a phoenix's call.

Snape said, "It did occur to you that it was a bad response, but you were too happy that Harry was defending you."

Tonks said, "Severus Snape!" She grabbed him by the front of his robe. "You are not to use legilimency on students! Certainly not during my tutoring period!"

"My apologies, Nymphadora."

"Now you're just trying to piss me off!"

Harry backed out the door, pulling Hermione with him. Leaving the room when adults yelled at each other was an old habit.

He didn't speak until Hermione did. "I think we should talk to Ron."

"Because Snape told us too?"

"I was already thinking we should."

Harry was quiet.

"If we really talk to him, there's a good chance he'll change his mind."

Harry said, "Can we talk about something else?"

"Okay," Hermione said. "Did Professor Snape seem different to you?"

"Other than being meaner than normal?"

"His teeth are usually a little yellow from all the tea he drinks, but today they looked perfectly white."

Harry hadn't ever noticed the normal color of Snape's teeth. "So the git used a whitening spell and maybe a potion."

"And his hair was glossy rather than greasy, and he had it in a ponytail instead of hanging loose."

Harry said, "He probably made better hygiene a New Year's resolution."

"You don't think, maybe, toward Tonks?"

"What about Tonks?"

"Nothing," said Hermione. "What happened with the metamorphmagery? You got better all of a sudden."

Harry said, "I don't think I'm like her. I don't change a part of myself. I become a different self. Just like becoming an animal."

She interrogated him as to what he meant by that as they headed back to the dormitory. Hermione grabbed her papers for Enchantments Club, and Harry went up to his empty dorm room, locked himself in the bathroom, and began experimenting.

He turned into a girl. Lenny said, "Who are you? Where's mummy?"

"I'm your mummy. Wait, you'll see."

He investigated thoroughly. There was something down there he wouldn't have imagined on his own. "Girls are weird," he said, and changed back.

"Mummy!" said Lenny.

With fresh perspective, he looked at his own equipment and said, "This is weird too though."

He tried turning his face into Hermione's. His cheekbones shifted, chin sharpened, hair browned, lengthened and curled, but even aside from Hermione having a lightning bolt scar he couldn't get rid of, the proportions were off.

Tonks could help with that, maybe.

He put his clothes on and tried just turning into Hermione, rather than turning into Harry Potter with Hermione's face, and except for the lightning bolt scar that seemed to work, though he didn't think he ought to examine the particulars.

He tried turning back into himself, had blond hair, tried again, was too tall, and was worried he wouldn't be able to get back to normal when it just fell into place, like a ball slipping into its socket.

He breathed a sign of relief, wrestled with himself, and decided to make himself just half an inch taller. His feet grew with him, and he shrunk them so they wouldn't stop fitting his shoes.

Then he went after the scar.

He'd thought he it was cool before he'd found out how he'd gotten it, but now being able to make it disappear was a must. He tried to become 'Harry Potter without the scar' and felt like water trying to pick up a rock. He sweated, and after twenty minutes he hadn't managed anything but making the skin around it roil.

He grew a layer of skin over the scar, and blood bled through in the shape of a lightning bolt. He cursed, and when he got rid of the extra skin, the scar kept bleeding. He dabbed at it with tissues till it stopped.

So the scar was magic. He'd thought it might be since it came with him when he turned into an animal, though it was easy to hide with fur or feathers.

He was lying on his bed playing with the Dream Maker when a loud sound startled him. Something between a creaky door and someone shouting "err-er-errr!"

He poked his head out the door, and saw Professor McGonagall in the common room, gripping a rooster under one arm. She tapped it with her wand, its chest swelled, and it again crowed, "Err-er-errrr!"

The thirty some students in the common room stared at the rooster. A rooster crowing in the common room wasn't particularly notable-odder happened on a daily basis-but McGonagall directing the rooster made it possibly the most surreal thing he'd seen all year, after the initial shock of ghosts and moving staircases.

Ron was sitting at a table at the edge of the room. He said, "You think there's a basilisk at Hogwarts. Sally said the last thing she saw was two yellow lights, that must've been its eyes."

McGonagall said, "Ronald Weasley, a basilisk's gaze doesn't petrify, it kills."  
Ron said, "She didn't look at it directly, she looked at it through a camera, that's probably why it just petrified her."

Professor McGonagall gave him the look. "We do not believe there is a basilisk at Hogwarts. We do not believe there's anything especially dangerous here. But you've heard how cautious Dumbledore can be. Some aspects of that caution are more discrete than others."

"Paranoia," coughed someone.

"I heard that, Wisteria Downs," said Professor McGonagall, and Wisteria fell silent.

Professor McGonagall straightened her back, holding her dignity about her like a cloak, and carried the rooster up to the girls' dorms, setting it off in every room, the rooster increasingly unhappy with the procedure, squawking and pushing against her with its feet.

As McGonagall repeated the procedure in the boys' side, Harry sat next to Ron, and Ron stared at him before dropping his gaze back to his homework. The red-head was working an equation they'd learned for transfiguration weeks ago, trying to work out the ideal type and amount of material to transfigure a little silver box.

Harry said, "Didn't we already do that assignment?"

"You did. I was in the hospital."

"Oh." Harry sat next to him. "Ron." There wasn't any good way to say this. "You deserved to be kicked, but maybe I shouldn't have kicked you." That wasn't an apology, but he didn't need to apologize. "But I was wondering, if you believe that stuff, why do you hate Malfoy so much?"

Ron looked confused. "Because he's a snide, cocky, bullying, thieving git and he keeps making fun of me and my friends. Besides, his dad was a Death Eater."

That startled Harry, and Ron explained about the Imperius curse, and how lots of Death Eaters had claimed to be under it, and some of them definitely had been, but lots of them were lying, and there were lots of ways to beat Veritaserum if you had time and money to prepare so it was hard to tell which was which.

Harry said, "You don't agree with the Death Eaters?"

"Of course not," said Ron. "Just because I admit the problem doesn't mean I think we should kill muggle-borns or make them slaves. It's not the muggle-borns' fault. We should at least be nice about it."

Harry asked Ron why he thought muggle-borns decreased fertility, and Ron admitted that Percy had made him read some books and essays, and the other side had better arguments than he'd realized, but he thought in the end it was just a lot of complicated excuses. But he didn't sound very sure.

Harry took other side, and obviously Ron was wrong, he had to be, but Harry felt nervous about it. Some of what Ron said made a lot of sense. His voice kept getting louder, and Ron kept having to tell him to calm down. After McGonagall and the rooster left some students directed their stares to Ron and Harry. It wasn't the sort of argument you expected to hear in the Gryffindor common room.

Ron said, "You're so calm about things that happen, but when it comes to ideas... The truth is true whether you like it or not. There's no sense getting emotional about it."

Hermione came back from Enchantments Club. She spotted Harry and Ron, took a breath, and headed for them.

Harry whispered to Ron, "I'm not talking about this with Hermione."  
"Why not?"

"Shh."

"Hey," said Hermione.

"Hey," said Ron.

Harry told Hermione about the rooster, Ron explained his basilisk theory. With that done, they fell into silence broken by Hermione asking how Ron had gotten into blood-purism in the first place. It didn't seem like his brothers were into it.

Harry leaned back, uncomfortable, as Ron said, "Probably J.C. Chester. She wrote all sorts of books. Children's' books, and books on ethics and society." Ron went on about how great J.C. Chester had been, and how she'd donated most of her income to good causes, most notably Hogwarts' scholarships for poor students." It was a pretty normal Ronalogue, and while it didn't bring everything back to how it was before, it seemed they were speaking again.

#

#

A Hogwarts student being laid up in a magical mishap and being fine a day and a half later would have barely made the school paper, nevermind The Daily Prophet, if it hadn't been for the Chamber of Secrets graffiti.

As it was, The Daily Prophet had an article on page 4 of the human interest section which treated the story with the amused skepticism a muggle paper might save for ghosts or the Loch Ness monster. That the famously paranoid Albus Dumbledore had a troupe of crowing roosters moved through the castle was added flavor.

The Daily Prophet was much more concerned with Harry Potter being a parselmouth and having a snake, and with the absolutely adorable pictures of him sleeping on a chair with his female friend. That was front page news.

Hermione slapped the newspaper on the table in the Great Hall. "My parents got a subscription to The Daily Prophet. To keep track of the wizarding world." She had out a piece of a paper and a ballpoint pen, furiously writing a letter to them. Harry leaned over her shoulder to read it.

Dear Mum and Dad,

I assume you saw the pictures in The Daily Prophet. That's my friend Harry I've told you about. I didn't really explain this before, but it's the same Harry whose godfather was wrongly convicted of being a terrorist, and all that. To reiterate, I was never in any danger, and everything is finished now.

In the picture, Harry and I were sitting on the chair talking, and we fell asleep. We're a little angry that some of the other students took pictures, but it was all in good fun. Harry is NOT my boyfriend. I don't want one yet anyway.

Harry being a parselmouth means he can talk to snakes. Wizards are a little weird about snakes, but Harry's snake is really cute. I'm looking forward to seeing you at the Quidditch.

"At the Quidditch?" said Harry.

Hermione said, "The Gryffindor opener Saturday after next. They're portkeying in. They want to see the school and get a little idea of the wizarding world, and they'll want to meet you, and Ron, you too, since I've mentioned you in my letters." The red-headed boy nodded. He'd returned to sitting with them.

Hermione said, "You're not allowed to say a darn thing about blood-purity to them."

Meeting the parents. It was silly, but the thought of older relatives made him nervous. Maybe he should be sick on the day of the match.

Hermione said, "They don't really know about the troll. They get The Daily Prophet now, but during the summer, they read my subscription, and they didn't get their own until sometime in November. Besides, Dumbledore kept my name out of the paper, so all they saw was a few references to a troll getting in Halloween night and being dealt with without hurting anyone. They were worried of course, so we talked about it in letters and at Christmas, and I didn't lie, but I may have understated how dangerous trolls are, and I didn't say anything about me being there, and with the dementors..."

Hermione shifted, "If you don't know anything about dementors, reading the newspaper it just seems like some magical prison guards with uncomfortable auras were at Hogwarts for a little while, and a few of them got too close to some students, but the teachers quickly took care of it, and all the students were fine after eating some chocolate.

"The Pettigrew and Ron stuff was harder, even without them knowing the details. They discussed withdrawing me from the school. I told them no student has died at Hogwarts in nearly fifty years, and they didn't like the idea of anyone dying, but of course they realized that students die at muggle schools a lot more than once a half-century, from car crashes and crime and the like. And once they compared the last ten years of death rates for muggle and wizarding children they calmed down. But still, I need you and everyone else to help me convince them I'm safe."

"I'll try."

"Harry, you're the best liar I know, you can do more than try." She waved the letter. "Can I use Hedwig? Sometimes there's a queue for the school owls."

'The best liar she knew?' What was that supposed to mean? "Hedwig would be glad for a letter. It's not like I write to my relatives. Use her whenever you like." Did she just mean that the point of occlumency was to be able to lie magically? Harry said, "I'm looking forward to meeting them."

#

#

Harry blew into the hole on the tuner marked 'A,' and tightened the string of the harp. He plucked it, and the sounds didn't match, he thought, or maybe they did, he couldn't really tell that was the problem. He loosened the string, it didn't match, he loosened it further, it still didn't match, he loosened further and he thought it was actually pretty close to 'A,' but down an octave or three from where it was supposed to be.

Harry dropped the tuner and sighed. Now that they'd finished up broomsticks, the Enrichments class had switched over to music, an hour and a half of instruments and an hour and a half of voice, every week January and February. March would be drawing, which Harry looked forward to greatly-he wasn't a great artist by any means, but he could draw a sword fight or a cat or whatever and no one had to squint to know what it was.

Music though... He re-tightened the string, but was pretty sure he'd tightened it too much. He kept tightening, just in case. Hermione, at least, wasn't doing much better, though according to her portrait she'd tuned some strings.

Ron, however, was looking at sheet music and playing a violin with disinterested competence. Or Harry assumed he was still playing it with basic competence. Madam Butterscotch had activated some spell so that only people quite close could hear the instruments, and Harry hadn't heard Ron's playing at all after Madam Butterscotch had listened to him for a moment and placed him in the 'people who know what they're doing' half of the room, which could also be called the 'wizard-raised' half of the room.

Music and drawing were significant parts of a wizard's pre-Hogwarts education, along with reading, writing, maths, and 'lots of work with compass and straight edge,' according to Ron. Only the muggle-raised required instructions on the basics of music. That included a full nine of the 21 first-year Gryffindors, and a pale Slytherin boy who loudly insisted to his doubtful housemates that his muggle guardians had found him on the doorstep he was surely a pureblood orphan.

Harry thought that, unless that were true, the Slytherin boy would've been better off claiming that a passing wizard had knocked his muggle mother up, making him a half-blood.

The only wizard-raised student among the incompetents was the pureblood Slytherin Daphne Greengrass, who described herself as 'hopelessly tone-deaf.'

Harry thought he was probably hopelessly tone-deaf too, even if he hadn't put so many hours into proving it.

The string he was tightening snapped. The end whipped around and scratched his cheek, just deep enough to bleed. Harry yelped, and the man in the portrait on the table laughed. Harry said, "Why didn't you tell me I had it way too tight?"

The man in the portrait said, "That's the penalty for inattention."

"I could've been really hurt if it had hit me in the eye."

"Neither the wards nor the charms on the harp would let that happen."

Harry followed the portrait's instructions to put a new string in, grumbling all the while. There being twenty-eight strings made his attempts at tuning seem even more futile.

Hermione got all twenty-eight strings tuned, and Madam Butterscotch gave her a piece of very simple sheet music, just two measures, demonstrated the song, and asked Hermione to attempt it. More students successfully tuned their harps, moving to the others side as Harry and Daphne continued to fail, increasingly self-conscious.

He wished he could just look at the string and see it was the right tightness, and as he blew the tuner, teal light came out of it.

The Potter Glasses, responding to his wishes.

He plucked the string, which made a dark blue light, and quickly tightened it until it reached a matching teal shade.

"You're cheating somehow," said the portrait. "If the goal was tuning the instrument, we'd teach you a charm. The point is to hear the notes."

Harry sighed, tapped his glasses, and the pitch vision ended.

Harry said, "I'm surprised there isn't a spell to give a person perfect pitch."

Daphne said, "There's a potion. The side-effects include a risk of becoming obsessed with sound. My parents didn't think being perfect-pitch it was worth the eccentricity. Perhaps when I'm older and less susceptible. I do play the piano, even if I don't like it especially. I just have to put my fingers in the right place."

Mrs. Butterscotch called them over while a group of older students in the music club worked with the rest of the class. A large stone bowl came out of a cabinet and a flick of Ms. Butterscotch's wand filled it with water

"A pensieve," Daphne said.

"I know," said Harry, then realized his knowing needed explanation. "Professor Dumbledore knew my parents. Over Christmas, he showed me a memory of them." It was nearly true, and a good idea.

Ms. Butterscotch poured in a vial of silver fluid, and at a gesture from her, Harry and Daphne dunked their heads in.

Vision swam, and Harry was in a formal dining room, standing next to a harp larger than himself. He blew into a tuner, tightened a string till the string and the tuner matched, then blew into the tuner for the next note, moving quickly through the strings, Harry feeling how it was supposed to feel, sensing the way the frequencies did not clash.

Vision roiled to black, then resolved into another memory, this time the tuning of a lute. They moved through four more memories, ending with another harp, and when Ms. Butterscotch sent them back, they sat next to each other. Harry did a little better. Daphne on the other hand...

"I've tried pensieve memories before," she said.

Harry said, "Won't the next two months be torture if you can't manage it?"

She smirked. "Torture for whoever's next to me in choir." But she bent over the harp with renewed focus. They were sitting close enough that he heard what she was doing, though quietly.

He had six strings tuned when Daphne said, "I think I've almost got it."

He leaned over so he could hear better, resting his elbows on her desk as she plucked the string and blew the tuner.

Harry said, "I think you're close."

Daphne addressed the portrait on her desk. "Tighter or looser?"

"What do you think?" said the portrait.

She plucked and blew, tightened a little, loosened a little less. "I think that's it. Portrait, is that it?"

"My name is not 'Portrait,' it's Edward DeBlaise, and what do you think?"

"I think it's good."

"It's good enough," said the portrait of Edward DeBlaise. "Attempt the next string."

Daphne grinned at the portrait, at the harp, and at Harry. She said, "The pensieve didn't help so much before, but it has been over a year. My ear must be developing."

Harry decided not to pat her on the back. "Good."

She had nearly tuned the second when Harry said, "The only Slytherin I've talked to much before is Draco."

She said, "And it didn't create the best impression. Want to know a secret?"  
He nodded, and Daphne leaned in and whispered. "Draco Malfoy isn't a pureblood wizard." As Harry's eyes widened, Daphne continued, "He's actually a large sentient ass transfigured into the form of a boy."

Harry snorted. "What are Crabbe and Goyle then? Two halves of the ass's old underwear?"

She shook her head, "They're researchers in disguise. Behind the thought-free masks that are their faces lie sharp minds busily taking notes on the ass's behavior. But shh, you can't tell anyone."

"The secret is safe with me," Harry promised, crossing his heart. "But I already knew not all Slytherins are asses, actually. The hat considered putting me in Slytherin." He hadn't told that to anyone, not even Hermione, but admitting it to a Slytherin was different. "But both my parents were in Gryffindor, so I preferred it."

"Nothing to do with blood-purism?"

"Maybe a little."

"Slytherin or Hufflepuff for me, and my little sister would've teased me mercilessly if I'd become a Hufflepuff."  
"I wanted Hufflepuff."

"No one wants Hufflepuff."

"I did."

Ms. Butterscotch rapped Harry's desk with a ruler, startling them both, and she said, "Don't talk. Tune."

Daphne rolled her eyes while Harry nodded politely, and they set to tuning.

Harry had made it through three more strings when he heard what he'd been waiting for.

"Rip. Kill. Eat. Eat. Eat. Eat."

Harry shot to his feet, stepped away from Daphne so he could hear better, and pulled Lenny from his spot wrapped Harry's upper arm. "Do you hear anything speaking parseltongue?"

"You, mummy."

The voice in the wall said, "The smell, no, can't. Hunt. Eat."

Now that Harry was paying attention, it did sound like parseltongue. "It's very incoherent," he said. "Repeated words, not even close to sentences."

Lenny said, "Only hear you."

The voice said, "Not enough. More. More. More..." and faded away.

Daphne said, "Lenny's gotten a lot bigger."

"Hagrid says he oughta top out between four and five feet long. I hope so."

Class ended with Harry still ten strings from glory. He made his goodbyes to Daphne before re-joining Hermione and Ron.

Hermione bit her lip and said, "You were talking to Daphne Greengrass again."

Harry shrugged. "We were next to each other. She seems nice."

"Slytherins aren't nice," said Ron.

Hermione said, "You have the most inconsistent prejudices."

Ron said, "My prejudices aren't inconsistent, I'm just not bound by conventional alliances between ideological groups. I'm closer to agreeing with the Ministry than with Death Eaters."

"Which has what to do with Daphne?"

Ron explained on the way to the common room, but Harry didn't listen. Now that he was used to it, Ron being a blood-purist didn't bother him much. He was used to ignoring the red-head anyway.

Harry said, "Whatever. The important bit is that I heard the voice, and Lenny didn't. It wasn't that quiet either, so that's a big blow to the basilisk theory. I'm back to wondering whether the ghost of Voldemort is floating through the walls, occasionally attacking students and cats."

He'd preferred the snake theory.

Ron's mouth dropped open, and Harry realized that Ron had been either in the hospital or being given the silent treatment through most of those conversations. And maybe he didn't want to tell Ron, but he couldn't leave him hanging with that, so he pulled Ron to the side, quickly explained his reasoning.

Ron said, "It doesn't have to be You-Know-Who. It could just be a ghost that has a grudge against the Potter family and only haunts them. So you're the only who hears it. Something like that."

That idea made focusing on his charms homework a lot easier.

Ron put away his own charms homework, and Hermione said, "Now let's look at that make-up potions homework."

Ron groaned. "I don't get potions."

Harry said, "It's easier than transfiguration theory, and you're good with that."

"Transfiguration bloody makes sense," said Ron, pulling parchment from his bag, and frowning. He shuffled through parchments, frowned, shuffled them again, looked through his bag, shuffled through his parchments again, and stopped.

Ron said, "I don't have it."

Hermione said, "I saw you do half of it last night."

Ron handed her the piece of parchment he'd stopped at. Written on it were Ron's name, a title, and nothing else.

Hermione said, "You're kidding."

Ron shrugged.

Hermione said, "You have to complain to Professor McGonagall."

Ron said, "It's fine."

"No it isn't. They can't do be allowed to get away with it."  
Ron said, "Probably no way to prove it anyway."

Hermione said, "We should at least try. At least let them know there's some risk."

Ron shrugged.

Harry said, "What's happening?"

A snort from the next table attracted his attention. A pair of fourth-year boys, Owen Linx and Nick Fallkin, were struggling to hold in laughter, and the dams broke as Harry turned his attention to them.

Owen said, "Did something happen to the little Death Eater's homework?"

That was enough for Harry. "Interesting. What spell did you use?"  
Nick Fallkin said, "We're not saying we did it. The mis-sorted Slytherin lost it is all."

Hermione said, "I'm going to McGonagall."

Harry sighed. "No. Hermione. Don't pardon their stupidity with silliness." He made brief eye-contact, which he knew rather better than either boy. "Why would we go to McGonagall with this? Don't tell her. Tell Ron's brothers."

The two boys paled.

"That really didn't occur to you two?" said Harry. "How shortsighted. And that's even ignoring that Hermione and I both seem likely to achieve big things some day. True, Hermione isn't the sort to pay back a disproportionate revenge for the schoolday grudges of twenty years past, but you can't expect everyone to be nice like that."

Owen said, "Fred and George prank him all the time."

Harry said, "And I fondle my balls six times a Sunday, that doesn't mean I'd want you to do it. Besides, their pranks, though often petty and cruel, are always more than just petty and cruel. But worry not. I'm sure they'll give you intense and personal lessons on style if you like."

He looked down at the cat, and Nick followed his gaze. The cat was squatting over one of the boys' bags, preparing to relieve itself.

Nick snatched up the cat. "Owen, your damn cat was about to take a shit in my bag."

Owen said, "He wouldn't."

Harry said, "He was going to. Would've been a great prank too. Taking inspiration from its owner."

Owen's jaw clenched when he understood. "You wouldn't get away with it. Everyone knows you're a charismancer."

"Would you complain to Percy Weasley about your cat relieving itself on a bag? Or maybe Alice Bell? You, know the Gryffindor Head Prefect? The one who takes me out for a ride whenever it snows and gave me a Christmas present?"

Twin grimaces. They were uncertain, they felt like backing off, but they couldn't back off from a first-year, however well connected that first-year was.

Harry stood and let out a large, regretful sigh. "But there's no harm done. I certainly don't want any bad blood between us. I respect you two too much." He put his hand out for a hand shake, Owen put his out automatically, and Harry gave him a quick handshake before the boy thought to jerk back.

Harry said, "Look. Ron just needs to work stuff through. I respect that you feel you have to defend Gryffindor's honor, but I hope you respect that I have to defend my friend."

The two fourth-year exchanged glances.

"So can we call it quits here?"

Owen said, "Fine. We won't bother the Weasley."

Harry smiled. "Thanks for being so understanding."

The boys left, and Harry sat back with Ron and Hermione.

Hermione said, "What the hell Harry?"

Harry said, "Making nice with bullies would be my best subject if they offered it. Malfoy's complicated because he's in a different house but the same year. With these, I just had to convince them the fight wasn't worth it, then offer an out. Easy-peasy."

Hermione said, "They didn't even apologize."

Harry frowned. "An apology isn't very realistic without getting an adult involved, and that's risky. I doubt they'll bother Ron again."

Ron said, "When I tell people what they don't want to hear they attack or insult me."

"Poor Ron," said Harry.

Hermione said, "They did something cruel, but you're believing something evil. I'm not sure which is worse."

Ron opened his mouth to argue, probably the bit about truth having nothing to do with whatever sounded nice, but was silenced by a scream.

Angelica slammed the door to the games closet. "It's the Bad Bunny!" she yelled.

Harry supposed that meant something to wizards, but everyone in the common room was staring at Angelica in complete incomprehension.

Harry thought Angelica would've blushed from all the stares if she hadn't been backing away from the closet, breathing deeply.

Percy strode quickly toward Angelica from the far end of the common room. "The Bad Bunny?"

"The Bunny, it's bad, big teeth, it's horrible."

Percy gave her a strange look and took out his wand. He moved closer to the closet, and opened it with a whispered spell.

Percy screamed.

Percy slammed the door with another spell and cast the Locking Spell on the door.

The whole common room was up and looking, several students coming of the dorm rooms and watching from the second level or the stairs.

Calming himself, Percy said. "I believe there's a boggart in the game closet. I'll take care of it." He rolled up his sleeves.

"Wait!" said Harry. "Let Lenny eat it."

Percy blinked. "Your snake?"

"My limbless lizard. It eats dark creatures. Boggarts were on the list Hagrid gave me." He hissed at Lenny, and the snake unwrapped itself from his coil around Harry's arm, poking his head out and tasting the air.

"Purr," said Lenny, and he squirmed to the end of Harry's arm, Harry keeping hold of Lenny's tail, as if he were carrying a bent stick.

Harry said, "If it doesn't work, so what."

Percy nodded. "You'll see whatever frightens you most. If limbless there can't take care of it, get out of the way, and I'll handle it."

Harry said, "I'll see a troll or a dementor."

Percy looked like he'd swallowed a lemon when he heard 'dementor,' but motioned for Harry to stand by the door.

He didn't plan to use it, but Harry took out his wand. He wondered if, rather than a monster, he'd see himself as a failed weakling wizard.

Percy whispered a spell, and the closet door opened.

Vision flickered. A tall, bony woman with a long neck stood behind Harry, pushing him inside the cupboard under the stairs. His books and his clothes stacked against the wall, his mirrors in the corners, his scavenged pencils and pens in a broken mug, precisely his cupboard, except Hermione was lying on his cot, deathly pale, blood dried on her mouth, blood dried on the pillow, blood dried on her hair.

Aunt Petunia said, "Get in, boy."

Lenny struck Hermione's head.

The scene was gone. He was standing outside the games closet, and only Percy was behind him. Lenny had his fangs sunk into a purplish-orange ball the size of a melon, struggling to get his jaws around it.

The boggart compressed, lengthened, like a lump of clay being molded, then disappeared into Lenny with a slurp.

"Purr," said Lenny.

Percy stared at Lenny, clearly full of questions about the snake, but he said, "Harry, tell me that woman wasn't your Aunt."

Harry said, "You know what movies are?"

Percy said, "My dad's taken me to the cinema."

Harry said, "She's from a scary movie I saw once. I don't remember the title, but I had nightmares for weeks."

Percy stared into his eyes, and though there was nearly no chance of Percy having any skill at legilimency, Harry strengthened his occlumency barriers. Harry said, "Thanks for letting me feed Lenny."  
He walked slowly back to where he'd been, eyes on Hermione the whole way.

She was fine. Of course she was fine. It was just a boggart. And his boggart included Hermione being dead. That was unexpected. If that were really his greatest fear, shouldn't he be unwilling to hang out with Hermione anymore?

Hermione hugged him.

"What?"

"You're pale," said Hermione. "Are you alright?"

"Of course."

"You don't look alright."

"It was unpleasant, but I'm honestly fine." She was rubbing his back, and he wanted to let her continue, and hug her back, and glory in Hermione being alive and unharmed, because it had been very hard to remember when facing the boggart that it was just a boggart, but they were in the common room and half the house was watching.

Harry pulled away. "I'm fine, really."

Lenny said, "Sleep with Oreo."

Harry sighed, and dropped Lenny on an armchair with Oreo, Dean Thomas's kneazle-a breed of magical cats.

Lenny curled around Oreo, as if to constrict him, and Oreo purred.

Lenny said, "Purrrr. Purrr. Purrr."

Harry said, "Lenny, for the last time, you are not a cat."

Lenny said, "Purrr purrr purrr. Meow purrr."

Harry shook his head. Ever since Lenny had seen Oreo catch a mouse...

Lenny tightened around Oreo, and Oreo pussyfooted the air.

Harry briefly felt jealous of his own snake. Lenny didn't have to worry about what people would think if he cuddled with his best friend. How had the boggart known that would bother him when he hadn't even known? It shouldn't be mind-reading. He hadn't felt a thing. And he hadn't even known.

But magic could be like that. Sometimes it knew what it had no way of knowing.

Maybe that mirror too.

"Let's just do our homework, alright?" said Harry.

#

#

The days went by. Lenny grew, Ron argued with half of Gryffindor, seeming increasingly stressed by it, Hermione continued to be the best in every class, Harry got the whole damn harp tuned and came up second to Malfoy at dagarary club meetings, and the Quidditch match came.

:::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. I did write a Harry/Luna oneshot called to "To Get A Date," so check that out if you like.
> 
> Also, consider checking out "Monstrosity" by JLL in the Amazon books department.
> 
> Another chill, uneventful chapter, but events during the Quidditch match should get the ball rolling a bit. I'm also confident that you'll enjoy the match itself. I earnestly believe that if you assume it's a high possession game with some sort of shot clock and think through the strategy more than the great J.K. chose to, the Seeker position actually makes a lot of sense.
> 
> One of my older sisters was terrified of the Bad Bunny into her early teens. I have no explanation.
> 
> I don't want to give too much away, but this story is not going to claim that everything can be solved by talking; I am disturbed by how recent events have made certain elements of this story more topical than I initially thought they would be.
> 
> I'm afraid my Harry's character is being influenced by the character of Harrys in different fanfics I've been reading. It's making him more mature, and slightly darker. I'm trying to edit that out.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I'm not planning a re-write of the Philosopher's Stone. In fact, spoiler, it's an object that won't really matter.


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